


Does This Count as Cradle Robbing?

by supercasey



Series: Team Fortress Kid!Scout AU [3]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Accidental kidnapping, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Kids, Brother-Brother Relationship, Childhood, Childhood Trauma, Children, F/M, Family, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kid!Scout AU, Kidnapping, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 42,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24191926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercasey/pseuds/supercasey
Summary: TF2 Kid!Scout AU. When seven year old Jeremy hears that his father is going on a business trip for the next few months, and will not only miss all of his summer vacation, but also his birthday, he’s reasonably upset, and wishes for a way to make his papa stay, or at the very least, find a way to keep him safe. For the record, Spy did not plan on accidentally kidnapping his own son and bringing him onto a classified mercenary base, but at least his employer also brought a kid, right? It’s gonna be a long fucking summer… or year, depends on how this crackpot war lasts.
Relationships: Administrator & Miss Pauling (Team Fortress 2), Administrator & Spy (Team Fortress 2), Miss Pauling & Scout (Team Fortress 2), Scout & Spy (Team Fortress 2), Scout's Mother/Spy (Team Fortress 2)
Series: Team Fortress Kid!Scout AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1717243
Comments: 67
Kudos: 110





	1. There's No Place Like Home

**Author's Note:**

> And here we are, the start of Spy and Scout’s origin fic! I dunno how long this one’ll be, but it shouldn’t be any longer than the last fic was. If you guys like Scout’s brothers, I have loose descriptions of their personalities on my Tumblr (I really oughta go more in detail on them at some point), so if you’re curious about them, just ask me for a link! I hope you enjoy this fic!

To be entirely fair, Jeremy wasn’t even supposed to know about this until his father was already gone; it’s only by chance, that in the chaos of all his brothers running outside to play, that he forgot Monsieur Crab in his bedroom, and had to come back inside and get him, as being without the crab would be sacrilege, something the older boys knew better than to tease him about. It’s while he’s running back outside, somehow managing not to knock anything over in his haste to get back to his brothers, that he overhears a hushed conversation from his parents’ bedroom. Jeremy freezes in his tracks the minute he hears their voices, quickly figuring out that whatever is being spoken about, it can’t be a happy conversation, as his mom sounds close to crying, while his dad sounds just as heartbroken. Now, to be clear, he  _ knows  _ he shouldn’t eavesdrop on people- Papa has told him before that it’s  _ very  _ impolite, not to mention disrespectful- so he knows that what he’s about to do is wrong, but… why is Ma  _ crying? _ What’s wrong? No son that has a good relationship with his mother wants to see her suffer, so while holding his breath, and with Monsieur Crab there to give him moral support, Jeremy creeps closer to his parents’ bedroom, pressing his ear to the door as he listens in on the conversation.

“I’m sorry, mon petit fleur, but I  _ must _ go… you understand zat I don’t like zis anymore zan you do, no?” Papa whispers, his voice low as he tries to comfort his wife.

“Liar,” Ma mutters, sounding more than a little bitter. “I know you love your damn job… fuckin’ hell, Jeffery, why can’t ya just call it off this year!? We’ve got plenty ‘a money saved up, ‘n if not, I could always go back to work! Please, Jeff, don’t go… we  _ need  _ you.”

Jeremy has to bite his lip to keep from gasping, eyes widening at the use of such language. To be fair, his older brothers curse like sailors when their parents aren’t around, but it’s so surreal to hear the woman who scolds them for cursing swear so much in one sitting! Shaking his head, Jeremy snaps out of it, knowing he needs to stay focused.

“You shall do no such zing, my love,” Papa says, remaining stubborn on doing… whatever it is that’s making Ma so sad. “”Zis shall be ze last time… just let me have one last mission, and zen I shall leave it all behind me, I swear on my life zat I will.”

Ma sighs, and although Jeremy doesn’t have a good enough angle to look at her, he imagines her shaking her head in exasperation. “Goddammit, Jeff… what about the kids? What about  _ Jeremy!?” _ She asks, voice shaking and full of tears. “He’s only seven, honey, ‘n as much as I love ‘im, I know I’m not gonna be enough for ‘im. For Christ's sake, he still calls ya his Papa, and we  _ all  _ know he sees ya as his fuckin’ hero! He needs a father, now more than ever, and I can’t be that for ‘im, Jeff… he needs  _ you. _ Hell,  _ all _ the boys do! You’ve been more ‘a father to them than any ‘a them jackasses they’re related to, and you damn well know it! Come on, honey, just…  _ stay  _ with us. We can be a happy lil’ family, ‘n you’ll never have to risk your life ever again. Wouldn’t that be nice? Can’t that be enough?”

“Mon fleur…” Papa trails off, not sure what to say. Carefully, Jeremy tiptoes closer, finally peeking into the room, where he sees his mother and father sitting down at the foot of their bed together, hugging each other like their lives depend on it. “Je suis désolé, Becky, but you  _ know  _ I can’t just quit… ze people who’ve contacted me for zis job, zey won’t take no for an answer; I  _ must  _ go. I promise you, my love, I shall return to you alive, but alas… zis must be done. Je t'aime, mon chéri.”

“I love you too, doll,” Ma whispers, her grip around Papa’s shoulders tightening. “You know the kids won’t take it well, though… ‘specially not Jeremy; he’s gonna be cryin’ for  _ weeks  _ over this.”

“I know… I suppose zen zat it is, in a rather cruel fashion,  _ convenient  _ zat our youngest is listening in, no?” Without missing a beat, Papa looks over Ma’s head at Jeremy, simply raising an eyebrow at the young boy. “Well, Jeremy? What has brought you in so early from playing with tes frères?”

“Um…” Jeremy averts his eyes with mild shame, aware that he’s in trouble, and very sheepishly, he holds up his stuffed crab, waving one of it’s little claws at his parents. “I forgot Monsieur Crab inside… sorry for listenin’, Papa.”

Papa sighs, shaking his head in defeat, and although it’s a tiny one, a small smirk forms on his face, the man likely amused by his child’s innocence. “I suppose I can’t blame you… you heard your mother crying, didn’t you?”

Jeremy nods, finally stepping into the room, as with the jig up, there’s no point in staying hidden. Very gently, he tiptoes closer, glancing skittishly up at his parents. “Um… is everythin’ okay, Papa?” He asks, because although he  _ did  _ eavesdrop, he still doesn’t understand what’s going on. Are they having a fight?

“Of course,” Papa says, as undeterred as he usually is, even when something is obviously bothering him. “Papa is simply… going away for a short time. It won’t be forever, of course, but Papa needs to go on a business trip for ze summer.”

“Like a field trip?” Jeremy questions, that being his closest frame of reference. He looks down at Monsieur Crab, smiling at the red stuffed animal. “You got Monsieur Crab from a trip once, right?” As he asks this, Ma picks him up, setting him down between her and her husband on the bed.

“I did indeed,” Papa confirms, smiling fondly at his youngest child. “Your mother and I bought him for you while visiting an aquarium with tes frères… we zought you would like it, once you were born.”

“He’s my best friend,” Jeremy says, as if everyone in the family doesn’t already know this. “So you’re gonna go on a field trip, Papa? Can I come?  _ Please?” _ He can’t help but grow excited, imagining that they’re going to the aquarium, or the zoo, or even a _ theme park! _

“Jeremy…” Papa sighs, and all too suddenly, the innocence is gone, and he looks more somber than ever before. “Unfortunately, it is not zat kind of trip… ze one Papa will be going on is very dangerous, and I shall not risk your life by bringing you along.”

“But I’m so  _ fast!” _ Jeremy boasts, figuring that Papa just doesn’t understand how strong he really is. “Really, Papa, I can help ya wid your work! Please lemme come with ya, I’ll be a super good helper, I promise!”

Finally, Ma cuts in. “Sweetie, your papa’s right… where he’s goin’, it ain’t safe for kids to be goin’ there. You’re better off stayin’ here with Mama and your big brothers, alright? We can have plenty ‘a fun this summer, you’ll see!”

Jeremy’s eyes begin to fill with tears, the seriousness finally sinking in. “But…  _ but…”  _ He stares into Papa’s eyes, his own beginning to give way to the waterworks. “If it’s so scary, why’re  _ you  _ goin’ there, Papa? What if ya get hurt?”

Papa shrugs, which is something he really shouldn’t have done. “I have survived far worse zan a family feud between brothers with money and guns… trust me, mon fils, Papa shall be just fine. Zis war is not nearly as zreatening as ze one ze government is having overseas.”

At the mention of the Vietnam War, Jeremy goes dead quiet, eyes wide in shock and horror. It being the year 1966, the war is still going, and will be for another nine years. He doesn’t actually know what the war is about just yet, but he’s heard the horror stories from classmates whose fathers haven’t come home yet. He’s heard about all the death, the destruction, the young boys who are being blown to bits like bottle rockets… if Papa is comparing this “business trip” or whatever it is to the war, does that mean he might not come back? Was that why Mama was crying? All at once, Jeremy feels tears cascading down his face, and before either of his parents can stop him, he makes good on his boasting and takes off like a bat out of hell, making a mad dash for his room, sobbing all the way there. Luckily for him, all of his brothers are still outside, so no one is around for him to crash into or worry. The minute he’s in the relative privacy of his bedroom, Jeremy slams the door shut, then runs for his closet, and after kicking out the toys and baseball gear he usually has stashed in there, he throws himself inside, curling into a ball on the floor as he cries and cries. He stays like that for what feels like forever, but really, it was more like thirty minutes, until finally, there’s a knock on the bedroom door.

“Go away!” Jeremy shouts, not wanting to hear Papa’s excuses; he knows what he heard, and he doesn’t want to hear his father lie to him with more faked reassurance.

“It’s me, Jerm,” Grant’s voice calls through the door, and just like that, Jeremy feels much less angry than he did before. “Can I come in, lil’ buddy? Ma told me what happened… it’s okay, lil’ bro, no one’s mad at ya. I just wanna talk, okay?”

Jeremy hesitates, wondering if Grant would even understand, but… Grant’s the oldest of his brothers at seventeen years old, and he seems to know  _ everything, _ so if anyone can help him out right now, it’s  _ him!  _ “…Yeah, I guess ya can,” Jeremy eventually mutters, because even if he  _ does  _ want some reassurance, he’s still pretty upset. “Just don’t let Papa in, okay?”

“Don’t worry, it’s jus’ gonna be us, lil’ man,” Grant says, slowly opening the door. He closes it behind himself, looking around the room for his little brother. “Jerm? Where’re you at, bro?”

“In here,” Jeremy says, pushing open his closet door with his foot, but only open enough so Grant can see him. “Can we talk in ‘ere please?” He knows it’s weird, but he doesn’t want to leave his quiet spot just yet.

“Yeah, we can do that,” Grant promises, and before Jeremy knows it, his oldest brother is in his closet with him, having to crouch awkwardly on the floor to get even close to comfortable. “So… Ma told me that Dad said somethin’ stupid to ya, right?”

“He says he’s goin’ to war,” Jeremy states, glaring at Monsieur Crab, though he knows the crustacean isn’t to blame for such an injustice. “He said it’s like da last one, but not as bad… Grant, is Papa gonna  _ die?” _ He may as well ask him, as he trusts his oldest brother not to lie to him about something so serious.

Grant let’s out a long, exhausted sigh, unable to keep from glancing at the closet door and glaring at it. “Goddammit, Dad,” He mutters, frustrated with how Papa explained this to his youngest brother. “Look, Jeremy… I  _ know  _ Dad’s a smart guy, but even the smartest people can say really dumb things, and that’s exactly what Dad did. He’s not going to the war, okay? He’s not fightin’ a bunch ‘a bad guys, he’s… he’s just fightin’ some idiots, I guess,” He scratches at the back of his head, mouth forming a grimace. “Dammit, why did he have to bring up the war, huh? What was he  _ thinkin’!?  _ Nevermind, just… Jeremy, I’m sorry that Dad said that to ya, but it’s gonna be okay, alright? He ain’t gonna die, lil’ buddy.”

“You promise?” Jeremy repeats for the second time today, giving his brother ginormous puppy-dog eyes.

Grant dry-swallows, appearing unsure, before he steals his resolve. “I  _ promise, _ kiddo… heck, if he does somethin’ stupid, I’ll go get him myself!” He swears, taking Jeremy’s hand in his and giving it a firm shake. “Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, junior! Dad’s gonna come back just fine, just like he always does!”

Jeremy simply nods in agreement, but on the inside he’s still afraid, terrified of what might be his father’s last business trip.

* * *

Dinner that night is surreal. By the time food is in the oven, everyone in the house knows that Papa is leaving tomorrow, so the atmosphere is rather…  _ stilted,  _ something that feels unnatural for what is typically a loud and rambunctious family of ten. Jeremy can’t help but feel the most uneasy, his brothers acting stranger than fiction; the twins aren’t fighting for once, Patrick is actually talking a bit more, Timmy and Malcolm aren’t trying to kill each other, and Curtis hasn’t teased him all night! Despite all of their children rather acting out of character, Mama and Papa are going about business as usual, having a pleasant conversation as they help each other set the table, with some of the older boys pitching in to help as well. By the time dinner is ready, the pack of boys are as sedated as can be, for once not stampeding to get a spot at the table. Notably, Jeremy sees that the seat beside Papa, which is usually fought over like the throne of England, is empty. Proving that it was reserved for him, Papa pats the empty seat when he notices his youngest child staring at it, making it obvious that it’s for him tonight. Rather nervously, Jeremy accepts the offer, having to climb into the seat on all fours in order to situate himself properly. Dinner commences shortly after, Ma serving Coq Au Vin to the large family… Papa’s favorite.

“So,” Timmy starts the conversation tonight between bites of delicious chicken, trying his hardest to break the tension that’s taken residence in his home. “How was your day, Mom?”

Ma smiles, looking relieved by Timmy’s attempt at regenerating normalcy in his family. “Same old, same old,” She says, fiddling with her food like Jeremy is, but not quite as messily. “Ya know how Mrs. Veronica next door was goin’ on ‘n on about her cat being missin’? She found ‘im this afternoon tearing up her rose garden; could hear her screechin’ at ‘im all the way from the laundry room!”

Most of the boys chuckle at this, amused by the crazy cat lady next door’s antics. “That lady’s a few screws loose of, well, freakin’ anything that works,” Jacob states, his smirk wiry and devious. “I swear, if she tries blamin’ me for her cat goin’ missin’ again, I’mma lose it; not my fault her cat’s got common sense ‘n wants out ‘a that shithole.”

“Language,” Papa says, not even looking up from his dinner. “Do not blame Veronica for her paranoia… I would be ze same way, if so many of my lovers had run out on me. And zen to have my felines leave me as well? No wonder she is so volatile to you boys, even if it is unfounded in most cases.” He says this while giving Malcolm a small grimace, as he gets into the most trouble out of all of his siblings. Malcolm, in return, sticks his tongue out at him, which gets no response, if only because Papa’s mouth is full again.

“They ain’t goin’ missin’, they’re bein’ scooped by the dog catcher ‘cus she can’t keep ‘em inside!” Jacob points out, leaning back and huffing after being scolded. “Like I said, it ain’t my freakin’ fault her cats are runnin’ for it.”

Papa opens his mouth to scold Jacob for cursing again, but once he realizes that it wasn’t an actual curse word, he shuts his mouth and chooses to let it go. In the meantime, the less bloodthirsty of the family’s twins chimes in. “I think one ‘a her cats had kittens again!” Arthur says, looking absolutely giddy with excitement. “If they come huntin’ in our yard, can we keep one?  _ Please? _ Ya know she don’t feed ‘em, ‘n Pa said we could have a kitten if one ran away, didn’t ya, Pa?”

Papa goes rigid, while Ma fixes him with a deathglare. “Oh? Did ya say we could get a kitty cat, Papa?” She asks, purposefully mimicking Arthur’s voice. “‘Cus I think I remember Mama sayin’ that we don’t need no pets, since we got eight freakin’ kids.”

Papa averts his eyes, continuing to chew on his food instead of answering, though his expression speaks of a man who made a promise without his wife’s permission.

“If we get a pet, I’d rather have a dog,” Patrick admits, simply shrugging when Arthur glares at him for adding his two cents. “What? Dogs are  _ awesome!  _ Hamlet’s got a dog, and he gets to take her everywhere with ‘im! Wouldn’t it be cool to have a dog for back-up? We could even teach ‘em to bite Boston Bashers on sight!”

“Okay, a cat I could  _ maybe  _ accept, but a dog? No way in hell, I’ve already got eight.” Ma repeats, not budging on the issue.

“So we  _ are  _ gettin’ a cat?” Arthur asks, eyes full of hope.

Before Ma can correct herself, Jacob cuts in again. “Hell yeah we can, bro!” He shouts, sharing a high-five with his twin under the table. “Jus’ wait ‘til Mrs. V’s kittens get loose again, ‘n I’ll nab whichever one ya want.”

“Don’t steal, ya idiots,” Grant mutters, rolling his eyes at all of this nonsense. “Ya want the cops gettin’ called on us again? Pa don’t need anymore BS from them than he already gets.”

Papa smirks, but doesn’t say anything. In the meantime, the twins groan in frustration. “Aw, why not?” Jacob asks, practically daring Grant to tell him no again. “Mrs. V treats her cats like utter shit, so why shouldn’t we just take one ‘a the lil’ kittens? Not like it’s gonna live a good life otherwise, jus’ roamin’ the neighborhood for trash and scraps. That ain’t no way to live!”

“He has a point,” Papa says under his breath, which earns him glares from both Grant and Ma. “What? Ze boy has a fair point; Veronica does not treat her animals well enough to have so many, so I see no harm in ze boys taking a kitten or two.”

“We can have _ two!?” _ Arthur asks, looking just about ready to explode with joy.

Papa’s eyes widen, the man realizing his mistake. “Now wait a moment-” He urges, only to go ignored.

“They can be twins like us!” Jacob promises, joining the hype train while his brother is still riding it. “Whatcha wanna name ‘em? If they’re boys, we oughta call ‘em Jake ‘n Art junior, but if they’re girls, we gotta give ‘em names that rhyme! How ‘bout Ava ‘n Mia?”

“Those ‘re good ones, but I kinda like London ‘n Paris!” Arthur explains, now fully bouncing in his seat. “What colors should their collars be? We should make ‘em green ‘n blue!”

While the twins ramble between themselves, Ma just sighs, looking in dire need of a drink. “Nice goin’, doll,” She says to Papa, though the pet name has very little of it’s usual sugarcoating. “When those cats start pissin’ on my floor, you’re cleanin’ it up.”

“I’ll clean it up, Mom!” Curtis offers, always eager to please his mother. Doing even more to prove this, he shakes his head at the twins’ rambling. “If it makes ya feel any better, Ma, I don’t think we need a cat, either!”

“Thanks,” Ma says rather dryly, secretly rolling her eyes at Curtis’ usual ass-kissing. She continues glaring at Papa, if only to remind the Frenchman that she’s unhappy with him. “I mean it, Jeff; if the cats puke, I’m makin’ you wipe it up with your fancy-ass suit jacket.”

Papa chuckles, not the least bit afraid of his wife’s threat. “Zen it’s good zat I shall not be here to clean it, no?”

“Not if I slip one ‘a them in your bag, smartass. ‘Sides, you could use the company out there,” Ma mutters, wearing her own smirk as Papa just rolls his eyes, all of her sons laughing at the exchange… except one. Abruptly, Ma looks towards her youngest son, noticing the worried look on his face. “Jeremy? You alright, honey?”

Jeremy shrugs, not giving a verbal response. Luckily for him, Papa understands all too well what he’s going through. “It’s alright to be sad, mon fils,” Papa whispers, low enough that no one but his biological son can hear him. “You do not have to talk right now… but please, eat your supper; no need to starve yourself, mon petit lapin.” Almost as if to encourage the boy, Papa pushes Jeremy’s plate closer to him, giving his hair a soft ruffle before returning to his own meal.

Jeremy stays silent, not even giving his father so much as a nod. It’s not that he’s trying to rebel by being quiet or anything like that- he’s fairly certain he’s too talkative to do such a thing willingly- but for whatever reason, words fail him, something they’ve never done before. Most nights, Jeremy is endlessly chattering during dinnertime about his day and the shenanigans he and his brothers have gotten into, but he just doesn’t have the energy to talk tonight, settling for just listening to his siblings and parents ramble throughout the meal. After dinner, Ma fiddles with the TV until it lands on a channel that only plays movies, it being some senseless French film that doesn’t look too graphic, and the family all gather on the couch and recliners, watching the movie in relative silence. Most of the family doesn’t know that much French- only Papa, Jeremy, and Patrick can speak it fluently- but they can translate enough of it to enjoy the film and laugh at the occasional jokes. Jeremy doesn’t pay that much attention to it, preferring to cling to his father for the entire duration of the movie, aware that this might be the last time he gets to cuddle with him. The minute the credits begin to roll, the pack of children all make for their bedrooms, leaving only the parents and the three youngest kids left, the latter group still happy to be tucked in by their folks.

“Come on, ya lil’ troublemakers,” Ma says, picking up Curtis and leading a yawning Malcolm by the hand towards their shared bedroom upstairs. She pauses at the foot of the stairs, turning to smile at her husband. “Hun, can ya put Jerm ta bed for me? I’ve got these two handled.” It’s obvious that she’s trying to give her son and husband more time together, something both men deeply appreciate.

“Of course, mon fleur,” Papa murmurs, scooping Jeremy up with next to no effort, as the seven-year-old is very close to falling asleep. “Come along, Jeremy… let’s get you to bed.”

Jeremy doesn’t argue, happy to let his father carry him down the hall, stopping by the bathroom to let his son brush his teeth and use the toilet if it’s necessary. Once done with that, the little boy follows his papa on foot to his bedroom, holding his hand for the journey; he usually bristles a bit at such touchiness, as his brothers like to tease him for being so clingy, but the boy isn’t going to let that stop him tonight, not when he wants nothing more than for his father to stay with him forever. Papa helps Jeremy get dressed, letting the child wear one of his old dress shirts as a very oversized nightgown, before plucking him up and hugging him close, proving that he’s just as reluctant about this trip as his son, but what must be done must be done, whether or not he wants to do it. They stay like that for a few minutes, enjoying each other’s presence for as long as possible. Very carefully, Papa finally lays Jeremy down on his red racecar bed, tucking him in with both gentleness and warmth, every movement slow and lingering, the man unwilling to lose his son so early. There’s a pause, where the two of them simply stare at each other, before Papa takes a seat at the foot of Jeremy’s bed, the distinguished Frenchman looking out of place in such a childish, colorful bedroom.

“Jeremy…” Papa’s voice trails off, not sure where to start. Slowly, the man undoes the top two buttons of his shirt, pulling out a worn set of old dog tags from underneath. “When I was a very young child, mon père went away to fight ze nazis… he did not return. Zis was all I ever saw of him, as he died when I was but a baby,” He sighs, fussing with the dog tags, something that seems practiced and familiar. “Alzough I never knew ze man, zese tags have always brought me comfort, and I hope zey shall do ze same for you,” Papa turns to Jeremy, and very carefully, he places the dog tags around his son’s neck, the accessory dangling quite low due to the boy’s small size. Smiling rather sadly, Papa lays a hand on his son’s shoulder, staring deeply into the matching set of baby blue eyes beside him. “I promise you, mon fils, I shall come home to you someday… but come morning, I must leave you. Know zat for every day zat I am not here, for every moment zat you miss me, I am zinking only of you and your siblings, and how much I wish I could be with you all. What I am going to do, it is for your benefit; you do not understand what zat means yet, but someday you will. Perhaps someday, you may even zank me… but probably not,” Sighing, the Frenchman stands, eyes lingering on his son’s face. “…Je t'aime, mon fils. Tu me manqueras plus que toute autre chose.”

“Je t'aime aussi, Papa,” Jeremy whispers, his eyes filling with tears. They begin to fall as he sits up in bed, the boy clutching one of Monsieur Crab’s claws with one hand, the other grabbing hold of Papa’s pants leg, keeping him from walking away just yet. “Please, Papa, don’t go! Mama said ya don’t gotta go, didn’t she? Ya don’t gotta disappear ‘n die! The kids at school, a bunch ‘a dem don’t even  _ got  _ dads anymore, ‘cus they went away ‘n died in the war; I don’t wanna be like them! I want ya to stay ‘n play baseball with me, ‘n make Maman smile, ‘n help mes grands frères stay outta trouble wid the cops! I’ll be the bestest son ever, Papa, but only if ya stay! _ S'il vous plaît!” _

Papa takes a long, deep breath. “I know, mon fils, I know… mais je dois aller travailler,” He says, trying to keep his voice steady, but it’s damn near impossible, tears threatening to fall and wet his fine clothes. “It is going to be hard, I know, but I will come home soon enough; you’ll hardly know I was gone,” That’s a lie, but he’s doing what he can to comfort his son in this trying time. “Goodnight, mon fils… I will see you again very soon.”

Jeremy’s eyes widen as he realizes that he’s running out of time, that he can’t convince his father to stay. Desperately, he stands up in his bed and clutches Papa’s shirt with both hands, sobbing as he presses his face into the man’s torso. “Don’t go, Papa! S'il vous plaît, I’ll do anything! I-I’ll help Maman wid the dishes, ‘n I’ll get really good grades next year at school, ‘n I’ll say no ta gettin’ a pet so Maman will be happy, ‘n-”

“-Jeremy Charles,” Papa snaps, narrowing his eyes at the raging child. Slowly, he softens, unable to stay mad when he knows why his son is acting this way. He picks Jeremy up again, hugging him as gently as he can. “Mon fils… zeir is nozing anyone can do about zis. Papa must go, and you must stay. Do not fret, ta mère et tes frères will keep you company until I return, but until zen you must be patient. You want to be big and strong like ton père when you grow up, no?” Jeremy nods, earning a soft smile from his father, the man giving his hair a quick ruffle. “Zen you must learn to be patient, mon fils. It will come in time, and you will be all ze better for learning it. Au revoir, Jeremy. Je t'aime plus que la vie elle-même.” Finally, he lays Jeremy back down in his bed, tucks him back in, and leaves the room, turning off the lights on his way out.

With nothing but the night light to keep him from being consumed by darkness, Jeremy is left in a less than desirable state. For about an hour or so, he just lays in bed and cries his heart out, tempted to start throwing things around until Papa comes in and punishes him, but hey, it would be better than him going away forever, right? Unfortunately, by the end of his second meltdown of the day, young Jeremy isn’t feeling any better. If anything, he feels even worse now, his stomach cramping from just how hard he sobbed. With nothing else to do but sleep, the boy rolls onto his side, struggling to do just that, as his brain feels like a loud, angry siren that won’t shut up no matter what he does. Why does life have to be so mean to him? Why does Papa have to go away? This is unfair! Jeremy may not be the most well-behaved or polite of children, but he loves his family more than anything else, and he doesn’t want a single member to leave, not even Curtis! Why can’t Papa see that nothing is more important than family? Does he really love his dumb job more than them? Jeremy feels himself tearing up again, the thought making him feel beyond worthless, afraid that he might’ve done something to earn his father’s abandonment. Is this because he almost got held back in school? He passed, so he’s still going into second grade next year, despite his less than stellar grades! Is Papa mad about it, though? He isn’t sure.

Fitful and displaying signs of adolescent insomnia, Jeremy slips out of his bed, sitting down on the floor as he struggles to gather his thoughts. He contemplates playing with some of his toys to busy himself, but that could make a lot of noise, and he can’t risk waking his parents up and getting in trouble, lest it cause Papa to leave even sooner than tomorrow morning. Glancing around the room, Jeremy’s eyes land on a stuffed black cat that he got from Santa last Christmas, the plush cat wearing an adorable red bowtie. The boy walks across the room and picks it up, looking it over in his hands; if Jacob and Arthur really get their own cats, will Ma let him have one, too? Maybe a black cat with a red bowtie that he can name something that Papa would like… suddenly, Jeremy remembers something Mama said earlier, about sneaking a kitten into Papa’s bag so it could keep him company. As far as the child knows, his father doesn’t have any stuffed animals of his own, especially not any that are as brave and strong as Monsieur Crab! To go to war all by himself… it must be so scary, no wonder Papa was crying after tucking him in. Internally, Jeremy scolds himself for being so selfish all this time, when Papa must be even more scared than him, but he knows there’s no helping it now that he knows what he has to do. If Papa goes to war, he’ll need back-up, and hopefully this kitty-cat can be just that, and bring him home safe and sound once it’s over!

“Monsieur Crab!” Jeremy calls out, careful to keep his voice down when talking to his stuffed friend. “Come on, Monsieur Crab, we have an important mission; we’ve gotta prepare this kitty for war so he can help Papa!”

With all of the skillful silence of a ninja in training, Jeremy goes about packing what he thinks the stuffed animal will need for war; a baseball bat, Grant’s old little league baseball shirt, a few baseball hats, one of his smaller blankets that will keep the cat and Papa warm, and the tiny first-aid kit his father taught him to keep in his room in-case of an emergency. Once packed, Jeremy goes about putting some sleep pants on under his shirt, before finally snatching up Monsieur Crab, who will of course be his sidekick as he takes the stuffed cat to his new home in Papa’s luggage. He waits another hour or so before leaving his room, it being roughly midnight or so as he treks towards his parents’ bedroom, mindful not to wake any of his brothers on his way there; luckily for him, they’re all heavy sleepers, so he only has to worry about waking his dad up. Jeremy pauses in front of the door leading to his parents’ bedroom, his stomach twisting in uneasy knots as he reconsiders his plan… but he  _ has  _ to keep Papa safe, and this kitty will do just that! If the kitty isn’t there, then Papa will surely die, and Jeremy wouldn’t be able to live with himself if that happened! Swallowing the last of his nervousness, the child opens the door, having to get up on his tiptoes to reach it. He’s slow when pushing it open, praying internally that no one will wake up while he’s completing his mission.

Jeremy opens the door just enough to get inside, shimmying into the room as carefully as a seven-year-old can. To the boy’s relief, his parents are both fast asleep, Papa spooning Mama and occasionally muttering in his sleep, while Ma snores under her breath. Grimacing at the sound, Jeremy tiptoes as far away from the bed as possible, making his way over to the closet, which to his gratefulness has been left partially open. Once the war is over, he oughta warn his Papa not to leave closets open; does he really want  _ monsters  _ getting at him and Mama!? At that thought, Jeremy gulps, again faced with trepidation as he eyes the monster-infested closet… but he’ll do anything for his family. He silently sneaks inside, able to see well enough from his eyes adjusting to the nighttime, and once completely hidden from view, he shuffles around his parents’ walk-in closet, relieved to not run into any monsters while inside; they must be going easy on Papa since tomorrow is gonna suck. At the very back of the closet, Jeremy finds his Papa’s luggage, it being nothing more than a large duffle bag, a backpack, and a suitcase. Wanting maximum comfort for his stuffed cat, the boy chooses to put him in the duffel bag, zipping it open and looking inside, where he finds several pieces of folded clothes, a few blankets, and even a pillow. Gosh, it’s the perfect bed for his little soldier!

“Well… this is gonna be goodbye for awhile, buddy,” Jeremy tells the stuffed cat, holding it out in front of himself to give it a parting morale boost. “I don’t think I ever named ya anythin’ but Kitty Cat, so I’m just gonna call ya Captain Cat, okay? Don’t worry, Papa’s really smart, so I bet he’ll give ya an even better name once he sees that you’re his new partner,” He tucks Captain Cat into the duffel bag, but then pauses, giving the toy a worried look. “Hm… I bet it’s gonna be really scary tryin’ ta sleep in here, huh? The monsters could come ‘n eat ya… oh, don’t cry, Captain Cat, me ‘n Monsieur Crab will stay wid you ‘til Papa leaves in the morning! Don’t be scared, ya gotta be brave for Papa, ‘member? Here, I’ll show ya how!”

Very carefully, Jeremy climbs into the duffel bag alongside his stuffed animals, secretly surprised by how much space he has, not that he should be, since he’s always been really small, not to mention the best at hide-n-seek! After getting comfortable, he pulls the blankets tightly around himself, effectively cocooning his body so he can hide from the closet monsters. Sighing under his breath, Jeremy hugs both plushies close to his chest, beginning to finally grow tired, now that he feels like he’s done something to protect his Papa. Although Captain Cat is very new to this whole “protect your best friend at all costs” thing, he’s certain that Monsieur Crab will give the other stuffie tips while Jeremy is sleeping, which should get the cat ready for his adventure with Papa tomorrow! It’s going to be hard and scary, but Jeremy has faith in the plush cat, knowing in his heart that it has the strength to protect his father from anything, even the war! With little more than a yawn, the child is soon fast asleep, curled up with his stuffed animals held protectively in his arms. Sure, Papa might be annoyed to find him in his duffel bag in the morning, but so long as Jeremy explains himself, it shouldn’t be a problem! Yep, come morning, he can wave Papa and Captain Cat off, and be happy knowing they’ll both come home safe and sound once the war is over!

Now if only Jeremy had remembered that he’s just as heavy a sleeper as his mother and brothers…


	2. I Wish It Was 3am All Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let this chapter be a lesson to double-check your luggage before traveling, folks… ya never know when a loving pet or child could sneak in to join you on your trip!
> 
> [Mild warning for semi-explicit talk of sex, mainly of masturbation and pegging (though, the pegging is implied, as a strap-on is mentioned twice). Also, there’s some slight references to sp*nking, but it doesn’t happen in the fic and never will; sorry, I know it was acceptable in the 60s to sp*nk kids, but it’s a bit triggering for me, especially between parent and child. Viewer discretion is advised.]

It’s roughly three in the morning when Spy is woken by the sound of his alarm clock going off. It only gets to ring twice before he hits the right button to shut it up, the Frenchman tempted to roll over and keep cuddling his wife, but alas, he knows he doesn’t have a lot of time left. Struggling to fight back his ever-present fatigue, Spy forces himself to sit up in bed, stretching his arms over his head as he let’s out a big, lion-like yawn. Goddamn, he’s so  _ tired…  _ he  _ knew  _ he should’ve gone to bed earlier, but he wanted to spend as much time with the boys as he could before he had to leave. Spy pulls himself to his feet after a few seconds, nearly falling over as he stands up, but after shaking his head like a wet dog, the man regains his bearings and goes about finding something clean to wear. After collecting his business suit, tie, and ski mask, he retreats into the bathroom connected to his and Becky’s room, letting out a sigh of relief as the door closes behind him. Spy showers quick as lightning, wanting to be done as fast as possible, and by the time he’s out of the shower, he feels much more awake. Not quite refreshed, but awake will be enough for the time being. Once he’s dressed, the Spy shuffles out of the bathroom, only to find that the bed is empty. Did he accidentally wake Becky up? That makes him feel unbearably guilty, as the last thing he wants to do is disrupt Becky’s sleep schedule, but some things just can’t be helped.

The smell of freshly cooked bacon and eggs attracts Spy to the kitchen downstairs, where he finally finds Becky. He can’t help but wear a warm smile when he sees her, leaning his back against the doorway so he can just watch his wife while she’s distracted. In the nine or so years that they’ve known each other, Becky has proven to her husband time and time again that not only is she  _ way  _ out of his league- despite her insistence that it’s the other way around- but she’d make for an amazing mercenary as well, her reflexes razor sharp and fast as a bullet at the best of times. Were he not already well informed about his wife’s life before meeting him, Spy would be inclined to assume that she was also a spy in her heyday, or at least some sort of killer for hire. But no, apparently she got those reflexes from parenting eight rowdy boys… at least, that’s what she keeps telling him anyways. Although it’s rare that he does so, Spy begins a low whistling under his breath, the sound quiet but soft, and to the tune of a song he knows his wife loves. Gently, he makes his way over to Becky, and once he reaches her, he oh so carefully wraps his arms in a loose hold around her waist, so loose that she could push him away no problem, but she doesn’t. Even if she isn’t facing her husband, the man can still feel Becky’s smile as she pauses her cooking, a low chuckle emitting from her throat that sounds adorably amused by her partner in crime.

“Ya such a romantic goofball,” Becky chides, turning her head enough to meet Spy’s cheek for a quick kiss. “How’d ya sleep, doll? I know ya didn’t get much time to rest.”

“It was enough,” Spy answers vaguely, not wanting Becky to feel guilty for convincing him to stay up with her and the kids until ten. “Are any of ze children awake, mon fleur?”

“Nope; jus’ us,” Becky says, stopping completely to turn around, wrap her arms around Spy’s neck, and pull him down into a much more passionate kiss. She’s smiling as they seperate, but her eyes are so full of such sadness, it breaks her husband’s heart. “Goddamn… I’m gonna miss doin’ that every mornin’. I swear, the minute ya come home, I’m keepin’ ya locked in our bedroom for a fuckin’  _ week.” _

Spy laughs at this, rolling his eyes at the very idea. “Only after I have reconnected with mes enfants shall I allow for such a zing…” He then sighs, eyes clouding over with the same depression that’s encapsulated his wife. “I wish it hadn’t come to zis, ma chérie… but zere is nozing I can do now. Zey shall be coming to get me very soon; we will be meeting at ze airport so it does not appear so suspicious.”

“Fancy,” Becky comments, well versed in the rarity of such nuance from her husband’s past employers, though in all honesty, it’s very rare that he’s gone on missions since they got married; this is the first big one in years. “Any idea who exactly you’re killin’ this time? A piece ‘a shit mob boss, maybe?” She asks, turning around to continue cooking so that the food doesn’t burn.

“Mostly mercenaries zat have been hired by someone on ze opposing side,” Spy admits, laying his chin on Becky’s right shoulder, simply watching her work while he rambles about his latest assignment. “As I have said before, zis is a very strange job; I am not accustomed to such…  _ idiocy,”  _ His head gets bounced when Becky chuckles, but he stays where he is, too content to move. “Such grand displays of complete and utter disregard for vie humaine is quite sickening, but at least ze money is good.”

“That’s always a plus,” Becky agrees, though she obviously doesn’t, not on the inside at least. “So, any other broads out there, or are ya gonna be experimentin’ some new ‘dance moves’ over there? Don’t worry, I won’t judge ya, doll.”

Now it’s Spy’s turn to laugh, the man lifting his head so he doesn’t jostle his partner. “You are ze only person I love in zat way, ma petite fleur,” He states, keeping up the joking tone they’ve got going. “And to answer your question, non, zere shall be no women zere zat I am aware of.”

“Even if there ain’t, ya know ya got my permission to bang while you’re out there, right?” Becky smiles over her shoulder at Spy again, this time more sympathetically; she knows just how hard it is for him when he’s away from home, and while she doesn’t want to sleep around when he’s gone, she’s been open to him hooking up with people when he’s away on a job, so long as he keeps her informed on who it is.

“Again, you are ze only person I am inclined to, how you say,  _ ‘bang’.”  _ Spy forms a gun with his thumb and pointer finger, _ ‘firing it’  _ at his wife, which sends her into quite the giggle fit. He smiles at this, small and genuine, the sound of her laughter warming him to his core or leaving him damn near breathless.

“Well, you’re the only one I wanna fuck too, big guy,” Becky promises, turning off the stove top as she finishes with breakfast. She then hugs her husband tightly, now that nothing is around to distract her from doing so. “Gosh, I dunno how either ‘a us are gonna deal wid this shit ‘til you’re home. I’m gonna miss ya so much… especially at night.”

Spy rolls his eyes, not the least bit surprised by how lewd his dear Bostonian wife is. “Yes, well, zat is what masturbation is for, ma chérie… zat, and I am stealing your strap-on for my own survival; juste est juste.”

Becky loses it at that, doubling over with the force of her giggles. “I don’t know how people ‘re so intimidated by ya, angel,” She manages after a minute or so, struggling not to laugh too loud, lest she wake the kids up. “Ya such a fuckin’ dork, I dunno how the hell ya manage to scare  _ anybody.” _

“Well, I keep my work and home lives quite separate.” Spy points out, secretly glad that his wife doesn’t know how monstrous he can be… that, or she just doesn’t mind. Either way, he considers himself lucky to be married to her.

Becky just shrugs, and just like that the conversation is on hold, as the housewife goes about preparing more of their breakfast. To both give her space to work and help her out, Spy cleans off the kitchen table of last night’s dirty dishes, having to bite his bottom lip to keep from outright grimacing at the practically full plate his youngest son left out. He sighs, depressed all over again at the thought of going, but there’s just no other options. Spy knows the older boys will be just fine without him around- they’ve done it before and they can do it again- but Jeremy… dear god, he has  _ no idea _ how he’ll handle it. It’s been  _ years  _ since the Frenchman has been on an extended mission, the last one only lasting a few months while Jeremy was just a tiny toddler, and was too young to notice his father’s absence. But now that he’s gotten a bit older… it’s going to be so hard on him, especially if his father doesn’t come back. That thought shakes Spy to his core, the man having to take a minute to just sit down and breathe. No, he won’t let it come to that, not ever. He almost wasn’t able to be here for Jeremy at all, and he isn’t going to let himself die until his son is  _ at least _ eighteen; he’s not going to let his son grow up like he did, the weight of a dead father pulling him down, down, down into a terrible depression. If there’s one thing Spy wants, it’s for his baby boy to be better off than he was.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder, and Spy flinches so hard he strains a muscle in his neck. “Aw  _ fuck,” _ Becky murmurs, her tone apologetic as she goes about rubbing the back of her husband’s neck, massaging away the pain. “Sorry for startlin’ ya, doll… didn’t mean to freak ya out,” When Spy simply nods in understanding, his wife sighs, her eyes full of sympathy. “…You’re thinkin’ ‘a the kids, aintcha?” Spy nods again, prompting Becky to sit down beside him at the table, her hands taking hold of his, her grip gentle and loving. “Jeff, no matter  _ how  _ scary the nightmare that you’re cookin’ up in that big head ‘a yours is, it ain’t gonna happen, okay? You’re gonna come home safe ‘n sound, jus’ like ya always do, ‘n we’ll all be waitin’ here for ya, ready to hug ya like crazy ‘n never let go. It’s gonna be okay, Jeff… I  _ promise.” _

“You should not make promises you cannot keep,” Spy warns, which earns him a tight squeeze of his hands. “What? I speak ze truth; you should not make such promises, especially when you cannot control zeir fates. Je t'aime, mon amour, but zere is nozing zat either of us can do to control zis outcome… eizer I shall live, or I shall die.”

“Ya such a pessimist,” Becky mutters, tears filling her eyes. When Spy tilts his head at her, the slightest bit confused, she manages a smile, the tears beginning to spill. “It… it means ya always think ‘a the worst possible thing, ‘n then ya decide that’s the only way shit will go.”

Spy bites back a sigh, instead opting to hug Becky with all his might, standing up so he can physically pick her up and have her more or less sitting in his lap. Usually it’s Curtis or Jeremy who sits on his lap, or Jacob or Malcolm going over it, but it’s not like he’s  _ completely  _ unaccustomed to him and his partner being in this position; honestly, it reminds him of their early days of marriage, where most of the boys were still quite young, and the two of them were freshly in love and kind of stupid about it. Back then, Spy was still up in the air about his relationship with Becky, because as much as he adored her and her pack of children, he was ready for everything to go wrong at any moment, and when it did… to say he was surprised by the outcome would be an understatement. Only Grant, Timmy, and Becky were home with him when it happened, when an assassin broke in and tried to kill him. Spy had been ready to just up and run, to get the bastard away from his family, but before he’d been able to so much as run for the door, Becky had a gun raised to the assassin’s head. She had ordered the kids out of the room, and once they were gone, she didn’t even hesitate; she pulled the trigger. That night had ended with Spy in  _ her  _ lap, having a panic attack at the thought of everything ending, of losing this happy little life he had with her, but she had gently held him, grabbed his chin, and said something he’ll never forget:

_ “Let ‘em come, Jeffery,” Becky whispered, so low and cold, her husband had been shocked to silence. “All the assassins in the world, they ain’t got shit on a little girl from Boston, or on the pack ‘a boys she’s raised. I don’t care if this shit ends up bein’ the new norm, doll; I love ya more than life, ‘n I ain’t lettin’ a bunch ‘a ninjas take ya away from me, understand?” After Spy had nodded, she kissed him, giving him a wicked grin once they pulled apart again. “I love ya, hun… don’t go dyin’ on me, ya got that? I’ll do my best to keep ya as safe as I can, but don’t go makin’ it worse by runnin’ away or somethin’ stupid like that. These folks, I doubt they’re the reasonable type… they know us now, so we may as well make sure we got the worst reputation in town!” _

Back then, those words had comforted Spy, and even now they get the job done, the Frenchman thankful that he had stayed with his family. There weren’t a lot of assassination attempts after that, thank god, nor any kidnappings- though, there was that one time Curtis almost got nabbed at the park, but all the older boys had jumped the would be kidnapper so fast, it was over before it even started- but Spy knows that him being here is what’s kept it from getting any worse than that… but now that he’s leaving for a bit, that could change. Although he’s terrified at the thought of them having to put their newfound skills to use, Spy feels a bit better knowing he’s taught all the older kids how to properly fight and defend themselves, making him more confident in leaving them for a spell. Hopefully they learned well, and won’t just revert to street rules when a trained mercenary tries to bust down the door, or else there will most certainly be trouble. Shaking the thought away, Spy focuses on comforting his wife, simply holding and hugging her for a few minutes. He doesn’t even care if breakfast is cold by now; his wife is more important, and he’ll be damned if he let’s anything get in the way. After nearly a half hour of staying like this, just listening to each other’s heartbeats, Becky finally pulls away, her tears long since dry, but the longing in her eyes remains as a reminder that what’s about to happen, it’s not gonna make anyone happy, least of all her and her husband.

“I know ya don’t wanna do this, baby,” Becky whispers, calling Spy  _ ‘baby’  _ for the first time in nearly five years. “But… I  _ know  _ you’ll be okay. You’re a fuckin’ spy, aintcha? The best one around… ‘n I love ya so,  _ so  _ much,” She hugs Spy again, before reluctantly crawling out of his lap, straightening out her bathrobe before she goes back to the stove. “Sorry if your breakfast is kinda cold now, hun… at least it’s edible, right?”

“Anyzing you make is  _ incroyable,  _ ma fleur.” Spy says, flipping back on the charm like a literal switch, if only so he can get his wife to smile again.

“Such a charmer,” Becky mutters, and there it is, the slightest hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. She soon brings two plates of bacon and scrambled eggs to the table, setting one down in front of her partner before sitting down right beside him. “Eat up, frog boy; ya gotta go in a couple ‘a minutes, dontcha?”

At first, Spy is a tad oblivious, too caught up in the dopamine of being near his wife to pay attention, but at her nodded insistence, he glances at the nearest clock. “Merde!” He shouts, now going at his food with about the same level of ravenous enthusiasm that he scolds all of his sons for on a daily basis.

That gets a genuine chuckle out of Becky. “Despite not bein’ related with blood, ya sure as fuck are related to all my boys with behavior, baby,” She says, not paying her own breakfast much mind. As Spy finishes, she let’s out a yawn, taking a second to stretch her arms over her head and pop her back. “Goddamn, once you’re outta here, I’m headin’ back to bed.”

“You should; it is not healthy to lose so much sleep,” Spy manages to say, his movements frantic as he runs wild through the kitchen and connected living room, looking around for everything he needs. “Putain, mes sacs!” He yells, nearly falling on his ass as he turns heel, making a mad dash for his bedroom.

“Don’t go wakin’ the kids, Jeff,” Becky warns, following behind him to make sure he gets everything he needs for his trip. “Luggage is in the closet, doll; I got the last ‘a ya shit ‘fore bed, so jus’ grab it ‘n hurry.”

“Merci, mon amour.” Spy wheezes, stopping to kiss his wife for a few passionate seconds on the lips, only to break and run for the closet, tripping on his slippers on the way there.

As her husband hits the ground, Becky sighs, shaking her head in exasperation. “Fuckin’ overdramatic lil’ bitch,” She mutters, but she helps Spy to his feet regardless. For a few seconds he just stares at her, out of breath and forgetful from the stress. “Bags, hun.” She says, pointing him to the closet.

“Right.” Spy replies, forcing himself to chill out and just grab his luggage before he can make himself even later.

To his surprise, his duffel bag is still partially open when he finds it on the floor, but the contents look fine, a large blanket that his wife knit a few years back covering his stuff; Becky must’ve forgotten to close it before bed. Without so much as double-checking the contents of the bag, as he’s confident in his wife’s ability to help him pack, Spy zips it closed, saving it for last as he throws on his backpack. Once he’s got that and his suitcase, he heaves up his duffel bag, wincing at the surprisingly heavy weight of it. Goddamn, he oughta remind Becky later that he only needs the essentials… that, or he  _ really  _ needs to work out more. Well, at least now that’s pretty much all he’ll be doing until at least January. His luggage all taken care of, Spy runs to the bathroom and quickly brushes his teeth, then runs just as quickly for the front door, his wife not all that far behind him. If he had more time, the Frenchman would check on each of his sons individually to make certain that they’re well, and possibly even leave them each a little something as a going away gift, but he just doesn’t have the time today (plus all he could really leave them is money on such short notice). Spy stops at the front door, setting down his duffel bag for a second as he waits for Becky to catch up with him and say goodbye one last time before he leaves. She’s by his side in no time flat, giving him a warm but obviously worried smile, her eyes scanning him to make sure he looks okay.

“Goodness, honey, ya look like ya got hit by a fuckin’ freight train,” Becky mutters, noticing that her husband’s tie is an absolute mess. She steps closer, straightening it out for him. “There, that’s betta,” She says, admiring her handiwork. Her eyes linger on Spy’s face for a moment, her own unreadable, before she cups a hand on his cheek, the Frenchman subconsciously leaning into her touch. “…You be safe out there, understand me? I don’t care how much those assholes ‘re payin’ ya, no amount ‘a money is worth my hubby’s life,” She leans up on her tiptoes to kiss her partner’s cheek, earning a slight blush underneath his ski mask. “Call me as soon as you’re allowed to, okay? I’ll try to keep the boys home so they can all talk to their daddy… and Jeff?” Becky sighs again, a few more tears cascading down her face as she forces a smile for her husband. “I love ya, doll.”

“Je t'aime aussi, ma petite fleur,” Spy whispers, voice low and husky with fatigue, but he still takes a second to kiss Becky like his life depends on it. Finally, he backs off a step, picking up his duffel bag again. “Jusqu'à ce que nous nous revoyions, mon amour.”

Not wanting to draw out their goodbyes for too long, Spy forces himself to walk away, choosing to take his red convertible with him; he doesn’t care how much he loves all of his children, he isn’t leaving his car with them just so Jacob or Malcolm can wreck it within a week of him not being home to stop them. Eyes lingering on the house, as Becky has retreated back inside, too heartbroken to watch him go, Spy wonders just how bad it would be if he said fuck it and stayed here… _ his family would be murdered. _ There’s still no other choice then; he has a job to do. Without so much as another word, the Frenchman sets his bags in the back of the car, gets in the driver's seat, and drives towards the sunrise, an inescapable ball of dread filling his gut the farther and farther he goes.

* * *

The drive is mostly uneventful, Spy doing what he can to drown out his mind with the roar of terrible country music- that’s the last time he let’s Patrick choose the music in  _ his  _ fucking car- being his only means of escapism, and despite the somber mood, he is too refined to lose himself to the sound of some country hick singing about wanting to fuck his wife, his truck, and also probably his dog. When Spy reaches the airport, the first parking lot he finds is uncharacteristically empty. As he drives closer, he spots a sign that reads “Parking Closed for Today” in big, blocky letters. However, that’s not what draws the man’s attention; no, it’s the tiny little words of “Reserved by Mann Co.” that convince him to drive into the empty parking lot, as he recalls that company’s name being on every single contract he signed when he was given this job. Spy chooses to park off to the side of the empty lot, getting out of his car and sitting on the hood of it like a gangster who’s about to reach the climax of his romance movie. He takes a minute to just sit and smoke, it being his first chance in a few days; he rarely gets to smoke at home, on account of Jeremy’s asthma and Becky having quit, so whenever he gets some time alone while outside, he tries to get his fix taken care of. Just as Spy is reaching the end of his first cigarette, he spots a helicopter approaching from the east. He stomps out the last of his stick, choosing to not light another one.

As expected, the helicopter lands dead in the middle of the parking lot, kicking up dust, loose dirt, and litter all over the damn place. Spy has to duck in order to dodge a plastic bottle that flies his way, a grimace forming on his face as he watches the machine land, his nerves alight with trepidation. He knew going into this job that it would be…  _ weird-  _ that’s the best word he can think of in English- and despite it beginning like most assignments, the Frenchman can’t help but continue feeling uneasy, something about all of this not sitting well with him. Nonetheless, there’s no going back now, so Spy holds his tongue and waits, watching the helicopter get situated before beginning his tread towards it, bringing all of his bags and car keys with him for safe keeping. As he approaches, one of the back doors on the helicopter springs open, and out comes a tall, well-dressed woman with an impressively big hairdo. Spy’s half tempted to ogle the strange looking woman’s hair, but considering the fact that one of the men he was forced to meet with before this had his chest hair shaved in the shape of Australia… yeah, after that bullshit, nothing is going to make him raise an eyebrow. Swallowing his nerves, Spy approaches the stranger, mentally reminding himself to be charming, now that he’s in Work Mode.

“Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Miss…” Spy purposefully trails off, wanting the stranger to finish for him.

“You are permitted to call me  _ the Administrator,”  _ The woman states, her tone biting and filled to the brim with a no-nonsense attitude that reminds Spy all too much of his primary school principal. “I understand that you’re my new spy, yes?”

Spy nods, relieved that the Administrator didn’t call him by his legal name as a display of power; he fucking hates it when employers do that. “Oui,” He chirps out in confirmation, tempted to kiss the Administrator’s hand out of habit, but he’s honestly convinced that she would behead him if he tried doing that. “So, we are flying to New Mexico, no? What is my first assignment?”

“Straight to the fucking point; I like that. Keep that up and we’ll get along just fine, Spy,” The Administrator comments, the smallest trace of a smirk on her wrinkled face. She looks old, probably at least a decade older than him, if not more so; best not to comment on it. “I’ll fill you in on the flight over, so just keep quiet and listen, understand? That should be easy for a spy of your…  _ talents.” _ She wears a shark-like smile, as if she knows something that he doesn’t want her knowing. Spy bites back a sigh, as this can’t really be helped; he honestly wouldn’t be surprised if she read up on  _ all  _ of his previous jobs, including some of the…  _ icky ones. _

With little more than a nod, Spy readjusts his hold on his luggage and follows the Administrator to the helicopter, the woman chattering on about something or other that he can’t quite keep up with; something about gravel and twin brothers, but seeing as she wasn’t there for when Jacob and Arthur tore their knees and elbows up while roller-skating near a gravel driveway, he’s inclined to believe this isn’t about his family. Thankfully she shuts up about that while they’re getting into the helicopter, too busy giving instructions to the pilot to pay her employee much mind, so Spy takes the opportunity to look around at his surroundings. The inside of the helicopter is much fancier than he thought it would be, the Frenchman having expected a military issue piece of shit whirlybird, but no, this thing actually looks rather pristine, complete with comfortable recliners, cupholders, a carpeted floor, and even a small TV. Needless to say, Spy’s impressed, but he’d never admit that out loud, preferring to just double-check that he locked his car- it honks twice, reassuring it’s owner that it’s locked up tight- and set his shit down, setting all of his bags on the floor so they don’t get in his way. Once she’s done with her conversation with the pilot, the Administrator sits in one of the two recliners that are available, Spy sitting down across from her as the helicopter’s doors slam shut on their own.

The Administrator eyes her employee’s belongings, raising an eyebrow. “That’s quite a lot of luggage, Spy… can’t be without your pleasantries?”

For a moment, Spy’s half scared the strap-on is sticking out somewhere, but when he glances down he sees that everything’s fine. “I…  _ suppose so,  _ yes,” He eventually says, unnerved after nearly spooking himself. “What is ze point of making millionths of dollars if I am not to spend at least some of it on ze finer zings in life?”

“Too true,” The Administrator agrees, and at the snap of her fingers, a pair of wine glasses are produced from a secret compartment at her feet. She leans down, pouring two glasses of fine wine from a flask she had hidden in her dress. She then hands one of the glasses to Spy, giving him a small smirk. “To what we can only hope will be a fruitful business venture. If you do a good job on this, Spy, I assure you that all eight of your children will be able to go to college as many times as they’d like!”

Spy all but grimaces, reluctantly participating in the toast. “To getting ze job done.” He says, keeping it simple. After he clinks his glass against the Administrator’s, he slowly sips some of it down, very tempted to chug it and try to get buzzed, but he won’t for the sake of his dignity.

The Administrator smiles, looking almost relieved by this. “At least you can handle your alcohol better than the last few,” She comments, not even blinking as the helicopter finally begins it’s ascent. “The doctor damn near spat his all over the carpet, and the Scotsman asked for the rest of my flask.”

“Typical Scot,” Spy mutters, tempted to roll his eyes at the very thought of such inappropriate behavior, especially from someone who’s about to be his new colleague. “You will not have to worry about such indecency from me, madam, for I would never be so disrespectful to such a beautiful,  _ distinguished  _ woman as yourself.”

“You’re too kind,” The Administrator growls, her voice dry despite the fact that she’s sipped at her drink a few times. “Again, just call me Administrator, Spy… ass-kissing will get you nowhere. Really, you should know that already, seeing as it doesn’t do your stepson Curtis any favors.”

Spy resists the urge to spit out his drink, swallowing the rest with a slight wince that he can only hope the Administrator doesn’t notice. “It seems you have done your devoirs on my family and I,” He mutters, now just as unhappy as his boss is. “I have no intention of being rude, Administrator, but if anyzing were to come of such findings, rest assured zat zeir is nozing you and your people could do zat would keep me from reaping ma revanche. I have accepted zis job in order to provide for and protect ma famille, and I would appreciate it if you kept your end of ze deal by not harming or mentioning zem. Let us  _ try  _ to keep zings professional, no?”

The Administrator eyes Spy for a time, her expression suggesting she’s unimpressed with his little speech, but she must have decided to humor him for the sake of intimidation. “I’m not going to hurt your family, Jeffery Kennedy,” She says, obviously taking pleasure in the way Spy averts his eyes after hearing his name. “It would be bad for business to go back on my word… but understand this; I am using you as a pawn for war, Mr. Kennedy, and you must understand that I do not give so much as a damn as to what happens to you. If you live, it is only because I deemed it so, and you would be smart to remember that. You seem like a smart individual, and I would  _ hate  _ to lose a fine little soldier such as yourself, but that is all you are to me; a soldier, a little pawn I can use however I see fit. I will  _ never  _ like you, Spy, and I sincerely doubt you’ll ever like  _ me _ either, so how about we agree to disagree? Starting now, you are to obey my  _ every  _ command, or you will  _ wish  _ I had taken my wrath out on your precious little Bostonian family. Do you understand me, or do I need to say that all again in French? However, I’m afraid I only know curse words, and like you said, we really  _ should  _ keep things professional, so how about you just shut up and listen to me, alright?” She says it almost kindly, but it’s anything but, her tone reminding Spy of the women who look down at him at the supermarket when they see him with Becky and the boys.

Spy feels every bone in his body shiver with dread, his marrow soaked in rage and begging him to lunge at this petty sonofabitch, but despite his animalistic urge to maim his new boss, the Frenchman keeps himself in check, not wanting to make this any worse than it already is. “…Yes, I understand you  _ perfectly,  _ Administrator,” He bites out, careful to call the woman by her title, if only to avoid invoking her fury. “Rest assured zat you shall have no trouble from me. Despite your obvious inclination to test my patience, you shall see zat I am a calm and reasonable man, and zat I-”

“-What’s in your bag?” The Administrator asks, cutting the Frenchman off while simultaneously pointing to his duffel bag.

Spy stops short of his monologue, mouth slightly ajar as he stares at his least decorative piece of luggage, the duffel bag giving a few small wiggles. “What… ze  _ fuck?” _ He mutters under his breath, ignoring the Administrator’s eyes on him as he leans forward, ready to unzip the bag.

Before Spy’s fingers can even reach the duffel bag’s zipper, the bag itself gives a few more thrashes, which is enough to undo the zipper from the inside. From underneath the blanket on top of Spy’s clothing, none other than Jeremy emerges, the boy sitting up and letting out a loud, lion-like yawn. The boy blinks a few times, noticing his father almost right away. “Good mornin’, Papa,” He says, giving the man a truly angelic smile. He pauses to rub at his eyes, then turns, his gaze landing on the Administrator. “Oh… hello, madame,” He greets, giving her a small wave. Jeremy then turns to his Papa again, still wearing that precious little smile. “Are ya goin’ to your job soon, Papa? I’m glad I get ta see ya before ya go… look, I got a friend for ya!” He explains, holding up a stuffed black cat with a little red bow tie around it’s neck. “See this kitty? His name is Captain Cat, ‘n he’s gonna keep ya safe durin’ the war! So can ya please bring ‘im with ya, Papa? S'il vous plaît?”

The Administrator and Spy simply stare at Jeremy, both equally as confused. Finally, the former let’s out a long, tired sigh. “Mr. Kennedy, I hope you have a  _ very  _ good explanation for-” She doesn’t get to finish, a child’s voice cutting her off, but it doesn’t belong to Jeremy.

“-What’s goin’ on back there, Mother? I thought ya said we were just pickin’ up  _ one  _ mercenary today,” A little girl with her raven hair done up in a neat bun, as well as huge round glasses balanced on the bridge of her nose, pokes her head out from behind the cloth separating the passengers from the front of the helicopter. “Mother, you didn’t say there were gonna be other kids comin’! Hi there, I’m Emily, what’s  _ your  _ name?”

“Hi, Emily! I’m Jeremy!” Jeremy says, now showing his stuffed animals to Emily. “And this is Monsieur Crab and Captain Cat!” While Emily smiles at this, pleased to meet the boy’s stuffed toys, Jeremy suddenly freezes, the strangeness of the situation catching up with him. He levels a look at Spy, eyes full of confusion. “Um…  _ Papa?  _ Where are we? Where’s Ma?”  
  
Spy just gulps, feeling faint as he shares a wide-eyed, horrified look with the Administrator. He has a feeling this is going to be a  _ long  _ helicopter ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of all the times to find out your son is a stowaway, it just HAS to be when you’re giving a badass speech, doesn’t it? God help Spy, he really has no idea the hell he’s in for, and neither does his poor kid! I hope y’all enjoyed this chapter, feel free to scream at me in the comments, and I’ll see y’all next time! Have an amazing day!


	3. Bad News, Worse Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first scene took… SO MANY rewrites… writing the Administrator is so goddamn hard, why tf did I make her such a key figure in this AU? Anyways, Jeremy and Emily are adorable, and they’re all that’s carrying me through the hell that is writing the first half of this chapter. Also, shout out to scrapnick on Tumblr for letting me use her awesome OC “the Innovator” for this fic, even if she’s only mentioned in passing! Please go check out her stuff, guys, her art is so good and her OC fits in with the mercs so well, she feels like a canon character!

“So… you have a daughter?” Spy asks, if only to break the awkward silence that’s currently trying to encapsulate the air. Jeremy squirms a bit in his lap, not wanting to sit still, but as he doesn’t want his son anywhere near the Administrator, Spy keeps him where he is. “I did not consider you ze, how you say, maternal type.”

“You have eight sons, seven of which aren’t physically related to you; you have no room to question me about my personal life, Mr. Kennedy,” The Administrator bites out, her tone less than friendly when addressing her new employee. Her daughter is seated on her lap as well, if only to keep her from running over to Jeremy again. “Really, what you  _ should  _ be doing is giving me a good reason not to throw you  _ and  _ your brat out of this plane within the next minute.”

Emily raises her hand to provide an answer, but with a surprising amount of gentleness, the Administrator lowers her daughter’s hand back down to her lap. Spy fidgets a bit in place, which only encourages his son to do the same. “Jeremy, mon fils, please stop squirming.” Spy orders, coming off as more tired than anything else.

“Sorry, Papa,” Jeremy says, giving the man an apologetic look from over his shoulder. “Ya know I don’t like sittin’ still for super long!”

“It’s only been a few minutes at  _ most,” _ The Administrator points out, unimpressed with Jeremy’s lack of patience. She levels a look at Spy, raising a single eyebrow at the struggling father. “You really suck at parenting, don’t you? Your son is horribly behaved.”

“Hey, I say s'il te plaît et merci every time I’ve gotta; that’s polite, ain’t it!?” Jeremy argues, clearly offended by the Administrator’s comment. “Maybe  _ you’re  _ jus’  _ weird!” _

“Jeremy!” Spy snaps, though internally he wants to laugh, the shocked look on the Administrator’s face rather priceless. Still, he shouldn’t encourage this sort of behavior. “Vous ne parlez pas aux adultes comme ça; vous savez mieux.”

Jeremy lowers his head in shame, embarrassed to have been scolded in front of two strangers, even if his father had enough courtesy to hide the scolding in French. Emily, in the meantime, gives him a sympathetic smile, likely feeling bad for the other child. “So, Jeremy… what does _ ‘silly play mercy’ _ mean?” She asks, if only to make the boy feel better and get off topic.

Jeremy giggles at the mispronunciation, but not in a mean-spirited way. “It’s pronounced  _ s'il te plaît et merci, _ ‘n it means please ‘n thank you!”

“Oh!” Emily says, eyes wide with wonder. “That’s so  _ neat! _ Was that in French? Do you speak it as a first or second language?”

“Yeah!” Jeremy confirms, growing more at ease by the second, no longer putting up such a fuss on his father’s lap. “I can speak French ‘n English ‘cus my Ma is American ‘n my Papa is French, so I get to speak both. Papa says French is a  _ ‘love language’ _ ‘r somethin’ like that, but I jus’ like it ‘cus my big brothers don’t speak it very good, ‘n it feels like I can talk in code ‘r somethin’ cool like that!”

Emily giggles, raising a hand to cover her mouth when she does so; she’s been taught excellent manners, likely by her posh businesswoman of a mother. “You’ve got big brothers? I don’t have  _ any  _ siblings; what’s it like to have ‘em? Do you have any sisters, too?” The girl asks, continuing the conversation.

Jeremy shakes his head. “Nope, I’ve only got brothers, ‘n they’re all older than me,” He explains, and Spy can almost  _ hear  _ his son nearly call his brothers by the same name in French, but he makes an effort not to, aware that the person he’s talking to isn’t fluent in the formal language. “I’ve got seven of ‘em, ‘n it’s pretty cool; sometimes Malcolm ‘n Grant can be kinda mean ‘r bossy, but I really like playin’ with Patrick ‘cus he let’s me play with his action figures, ‘n Timmy gives the best horsey rides! Curtis is cool too I guess, but he’s a  _ huge  _ jerk! That’s weird that ya don’t got any siblings; what’s it like not to?” He asks the question with almost no tact, unaware that the way he asked it could be seen as rude.

“Uh…  _ normal, _ I guess?” Emily struggles to come up with an answer, not that Spy is all that surprised; she’s still a kid after all, even if she acts rather mature for her age. “I wouldn’t know what it’s like to have ‘em, so I wouldn’t know what I’m missin’, I guess. It gets kinda lonely though, so that’s why Mother brings me with her to work sometimes, but only when it’s not supposed to be really scary or dangerous.”

“I’ve  _ never  _ gotten to go with  _ my  _ parents to work before. Gosh Emily, you’re  _ so  _ lucky!” Jeremy exclaims, before looking up at Spy with big, pleading eyes. “Papa, since Emily can go wid  _ her  _ mom, can I-”

“-Absolutely  _ not,”  _ Spy says, not even letting the kid finish his request. “I have said zis many times, mon fils; ton père job is  _ very  _ dangerous, and a war-zone is no place for children. Just because ze Administrator is willing to risk her child’s life does not mean I am willing to do ze same with you.”

There’s a pause, where the Administrator looks about ready to strangle Spy for challenging her parenting methods, but before she can even open her mouth, Jeremy intervenes. “It’s not polite to interrupt people, Papa.” He quips, the smallest of smirks on his face.

Spy is tempted to scold Jeremy for being a smartass… but he’s never been good at discouraging intelligent behavior before, and he doubts he’s going to start changing that anytime soon. Becky gives him a hard time about it whenever she’s around to see how lenient her husband is about backsass, insisting that he shouldn’t encourage the boys to be rebellious, but when they can actually get away with something in a clever way, or they have a well-thought out response to something he’s said, Spy can’t help but feel proud of them and let them get away with whatever they’re up to. Shaking the thought away, the Frenchman gives his employer a hesitant once-over, unsure of how to feel about her at the moment. After Emily came out of hiding, she tried to approach Jeremy, who in turn had jumped up to greet her with a hug. The Administrator had panicked, grabbing her daughter and holding her in her lap for safe keeping, all while shoving Jeremy away with her foot; she hadn’t kicked him, thank god, but she sure as hell didn’t treat him kindly. In response, the little boy had begun bawling, convinced that he’d been kicked, so it was up to Spy to scoop him up and hug him until he calmed down, leading to… well, _ this.  _ The mercenary is tempted to call it a standoff, but he’s never heard of a standoff that only consisted of two criminal parents and their kids before. Either way, Spy remains tense, waiting to see if he needs to steal a parachute and escape with his son.

“Clearly we’re both in an awkward position, Mr. Kennedy,” The Administrator eventually says, taking the opportunity to speak when no one else is doing so. “From what I can gather, it was not your intention to kidnap your own son, yes?”

“I would never do somezing like zis intentionally,” Spy promises, unknowingly holding Jeremy a little bit tighter, only letting up when the boy pat’s his arm a few times to signal his discomfort. “I care too much for my family to risk zeir lives in such a manner… I never meant to take him with me.”

“‘N I didn’t mean ta get kidnapped!” Jeremy adds, proceeding to hold up his stuffed cat for everyone to see. “I jus’ wanted Papa to have a buddy, but then Captain Cat got too scared to fall asleep, so me ‘n Monsieur Crab had ta sleep wid ‘im, ‘n then I woke up here!”

“Yes, we  _ know, _ you’ve told us  _ several  _ times,” The Administrator mutters, freeing a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Seeing as this is the case, I can’t exactly kill your son outright, especially if I want you to be an obedient employee, and seeing as it’s too short notice to kill you both and hire a new spy… congratulations, gentlemen, now you’re  _ both  _ stuck in this war.”

“Excuse me!?” Spy shouts, standing up with Jeremy in tow to glower at the madwoman in front of him. “I am  _ not  _ bringing mon fils into a  _ war-zone! _ Why can you not simply turn ze plane around and allow me to return him to his mozer!?”

“We’re on a tight schedule today,” The Administrator says, shrugging off Spy’s aggression like it’s nothing out of the ordinary for her… which, considering her profession as well as her attitude, that isn’t too surprising. “Unfortunately while I’d  _ love  _ to drop the little bastard off at a gas station or something like that, we’re already running late, and we can’t afford to miss our mark. If we don’t arrive on time, my boss will be  _ very  _ angry, and if his anger was focused on me and my family…” She trails off, eyes fixated on Emily, one of her hands idly combing through the little girl’s hair. “Well, let’s just say that even if he forgets to attack you during his ensuing revenge, I will do everything in my power to make your life a living hell, starting with the disposal of your wife and bastards.”

Spy can…  _ kind of  _ understand that, but he can’t say he’s happy with the news. “After we have landed at our destination, could we not simply ask your boss to let me take mon fils home before returning to work?”

The Administrator shakes her head again. “We can’t let my boss find out about this at all,” She says, tone more somber than anything else. “If you think  _ I’m  _ a bitch, you should see my boss. Hell, if he were here, your son would be dead by now, and so would you, just for pissing him off.”

Spy raises an eyebrow at that. “Is he  _ really  _ so unreasonable?” He asks, hardly able to believe it.

“Of course he is, he was born rich,” The Administrator deadpans, used to her employer’s bullshit by now that it hardly even bothers her anymore. “Redmond is a rather…  _ heated  _ man, and so is his twin brother. Honestly, it’s no surprise that the two of them have resorted to complete and utter war over their father’s inheritance, but back to the matter at hand; even if Redmond  _ wasn’t  _ insane, it would still be rather dangerous to remove your son from the area, as Blutarch’s own mercenaries might attack when you’re trying to leave. Seeing as this is the case, I believe it would be better to just keep your son in RED base until the war is over.”

For a few minutes, it’s quiet, the Administrator waiting for a response while Spy just sits there, racking his brain for something he can do here, but nothing really comes to mind other than to accept his boss’s orders until he can come up with something else. When it becomes clear that his father is too preoccupied with his thoughts to speak, Jeremy gives it a try, wanting to lift everyone’s spirits. “Man, I’m awful glad me ‘n mes frères don’t fight like those Red ‘n Blue guys do!” He says, trying to be funny, but his smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“No kidding,” Emily agrees, looking just as exhausted as her dear mother. “Mr. Redmond ‘n Mr. Blutarch are  _ so  _ rude to Mother, it’s insane! You’d think they’d treat people with more respect, since their names are weird ‘n they probably got teased a bunch when they were little, but no, they’re really mean to  _ everybody, _ ‘specially each other!”

Pretty early into the children’s conversation, Spy chooses to tune them out, too preoccupied by his racing thoughts to give a damn. The Administrator is much the same, not doing anything to stop her daughter from talking to her employee’s child as she also takes up brainstorming, likely trying to find a way to get rid of Jeremy without losing her new recruit. Spy, on the other hand, is overcome with concern not only for his youngest son, but also his wife and stepchildren. No doubt they’re all awake by now at home, getting ready to go outside and play like they always do during the summer, but once they see that their youngest brother’s bed is empty… dear god, it’s going to be awful. Will they think that their stepfather kidnapped Jeremy and is never coming back? Will they think Jeremy ran away? What on earth will  _ Becky  _ think? That thought stops Spy dead in his tracks, the Frenchman shivering with dread. His dear,  _ beloved  _ Becky… she’s been through so much heartache, so much pain, to lose one of her children would destroy her. Now more than ever, Spy wishes his mobile communicator could be used while in the air, if only so he could call the house and assure Becky that Jeremy is fine… but that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? Their son isn’t anywhere near fine, he’s being shipped off to war for Christ’s sake, and there’s nothing his so-called “father” can do to save him!

Amidst his inner turmoil, Spy suddenly feels a hand on his cheek. He jolts at the sensation, opening his eyes to find his son now facing him on his lap, the boy’s hand wet with tears. Spy didn’t even realize he’d been crying. “Papa… it’s gonna be okay,” Jeremy whispers, tears pooling in his own eyes, but he still smiles courageously up at his father, wanting nothing more than to see the same from him. “I know it’s really scary, goin’ to fight bad guys, but we’ve got each other ‘n our stuffies, so we’ll be jus’ fine!” As if to prove this, the boy squirms out of Spy’s grasp, running to grab Monsieur Crab from the duffel bag before returning to his father, stopping to stand right in front of him. “Ya see? I’ve got Monsieur Crab, ‘n you’ve got Captain Cat, so we’re all set! Here, you can hold Cat,” Jeremy takes Captain Cat, and very gently, he places the toy in Spy’s empty hands, the fleece soft, even through the mercenary’s gloves. “There ya go, nice ‘n comfy! I know Captain Cat ain’t a really fancy name, so it’s okay if ya wanna rename him, Papa… whatever makes ya happy!” He then gives Spy such a warm smile, for once showing his teeth, as he usually tries to hide his buck teeth when he grins, but just this once, he won’t restrain himself.

Spy’s tears halt completely, the man freeing one hand to rub away his tears, the other holding Captain Cat by one of the stuffed animal’s paws. “Captain Cat… zat is a very good name for him, mon fils; it makes him sound very brave, just like you,” He gives Jeremy’s hair a gentle ruffle, unable to keep from smiling when his son giggles in response. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you, Jeremy… vous êtes trop innocent pour avoir un père aussi horrible.”

“You’re not _ bad, _ Papa; you’re the _ best!” _ Jeremy corrects him without hesitation, pouting at his dad for even  _ suggesting  _ such an awful thing. He soon softens though, well enough in-tune with his father to understand why he’s acting like this. “It’s gonna be okay, Papa,” He repeats his sentiment from earlier, adding a tight hug for good measure. “Don’t worry… I’ll keep ya safe, ‘n so will our friends!”

Spy hesitates, tempted to tell Jeremy the truth, that they  _ won’t  _ be okay… but in the end, he simply nods his head and hugs his son back, trying desperately to ignore the Administrator and her daughter’s eyes on him for the rest of the flight.

* * *

“Normally this would be our one and only face to face conversation for the rest of your employment, but seeing as we’re in a rather…  _ unique  _ situation,” The Administrator’s eyes are glued to Jeremy, words failing her for a moment, before she shakes away her trepidation, too strong to be unnerved by a mere child’s presence. “I will call the base tomorrow evening to see how things are going, as well as to give you more information concerning your job. If you manage to survive your first assignment, I’ll visit you again shortly thereafter.”

“I understand,” Spy says, though he can barely even hear himself over the roar of the helicopter attempting to land, the vehicle letting out a loud thump as it touches down in an updraft of yellow sand. “Before I leave, I must ask, am I permitted to call my partner to tell her what has become of our child?” He asks just to make sure it’s okay, not that being told no will stop him, of course.

“If you want to, sure,” The Administrator mutters, a devilish smirk now taking residency on her wrinkled face. “Though I don’t think you’re in for a very happy conversation with her, Mr. Kennedy… if I didn’t hate you so much, I would almost be inclined to feel  _ pity  _ for you.”

“You’re too kind.” Spy growls, tone laced with sarcasm and perhaps the cyanide tooth near his molars coming loose. He pushes it back in place with his tongue, leaving him too preoccupied to speak as he wordlessly sets Jeremy on the floor, needing his hands free so he can grab his luggage.

Free of his father’s embrace, Jeremy runs towards the Administrator, and ignoring the older woman’s harsh glare, he reaches up and shakes hands with Emily, the girl still seated on her mother’s lap. “See ya later, Emily!” He says, his handshake just a little too rough. “I hope next time we can do somethin’ fun together, like play baseball ‘r cards!”

“Me too!” Emily agrees, smiling courteously at Jeremy, though she winces at the strength of his handshake, unaccustomed to such unfiltered enthusiasm, even from another child. “See you soon, Jeremy; I hope you have fun hanging out with your dad at his job!”

“It’s gonna be  _ super  _ fun,” Jeremy assures, still not fully understanding what he’s gotten himself into… but hey, it’s better than sobbing and begging to go home, and for that reason Spy will appreciate his son’s nativity for as long as it lasts. “Bye, Emily!”

“Don’t talk to my daughter,  _ brat,”  _ The Administrator snaps, her scowl deepening as she focuses all of it’s intensity towards the young boy in front of her. “You are  _ not  _ allowed to be her friend, understand? She doesn’t need to lower her standards for a  _ bastard’s  _ company.”

Jeremy scowls right back at the Administrator, but for the sake of staying out of trouble, he doesn’t outright curse at her. Instead he smirks, mirroring her villainous expression from earlier. “I don’t care whatcha say, madame… I’ll show ya! Me ‘n Emily, we’re gonna be the bestest friends  _ ever, _ so you betta be nice and let her hang out with me if she wants to! Jus’ ‘cus  _ you  _ don’t got any friends doesn’t mean ta fille should, too.”

“Is that any way to talk to your father’s _ boss,  _ young man?” The Administrator asks, crossing her arms while still holding onto Emily, her glare vengeful as she sneers down at Jeremy. She then turns her head towards Spy, still looking furious. _ “Well? _ Are you going to do something about your out of control brat of a son?”

Spy secretly wants to smirk at his son’s behavior, but he knows better than to let him keep arguing with his boss. “I cannot say zat I blame him for being angry with you, Administrator… you should not talk to a child like zat wizout expecting  _ some  _ sort of backlash,” Gently, he pulls Jeremy to stand as close to him as possible, if only to make sure the Administrator can’t grab ahold of him in an attempt to discipline him herself. “We shall be leaving now…  _ do  _ try to use ze restroom when next you can, Administrator, as I can only imagine zat you are quite constipated if you have regressed to arguing with a seven-year-old.”

Jeremy laughs like a hyena while the Administrator let’s out a low, guttural growl, looking just about ready to tear Spy a new one, but thankfully for all involved, Emily intervenes. “Goodbye, Mr. Spy! Thank you for lettin’ me talk with Jeremy for a little bit. I hope you don’t die!” She says, trying her best to save her mother’s reputation by acting especially kind to the men.

“Zank you, chérie,” Spy murmurs, giving the girl a genuine smile. “You were  _ very  _ polite, and I deeply appreciate zat. Have a wonderful day, Miss Emily.” With that, he collects his luggage and tosses it haphazardly out of the helicopter, before gathering Jeremy in his arms and climbing down from the vehicle, careful not to drop his son in the process.

As the helicopter takes off a few moments later, Spy feels a great unease fill his chest, the man petrified by the conundrum he’s found himself in. Here he is, hardly thirty with eight kids, the youngest of which has accidentally gotten himself accidentally kidnapped by his father for a makeshift summer getaway. Though really, it can hardly be called such a thing, what with the upcoming shitshow the two of them are about to face. Seeing as his father is having a midlife crisis mixed with existential dread, which will probably turn into a cocktail panic attack if given too much time to fester, Jeremy takes initiative by grabbing the duffel bag he’d traveled in by it’s handle, and seeing as he’s far too small to actually pick it up, he tries to drag it across the desert's sand, huffing and puffing like a dog on death’s door from overexerting himself. Spy snaps out of his stupor when he sees what’s happening, and wordlessly, he snatches the duffel bag from his son, giving his son the two stuffed animals to carry instead while he handles everything else. Jeremy pouts at this, looking ready to argue… but he must sense his father’s unease, as he decides not to press the issue for once, instead obediently following the older man as they begin hiking across the desert, the duo making their way towards a large compound in the distance, the ground around them sporting more and more signs of warfare as they draw closer to the base.

About a quarter of the way there, just as Jeremy is opening his mouth to start whining about the intense heat, a car begins approaching from afar. Instinctively, Spy jogs to walk ahead of his son, standing in front of him as the car drives closer. Jeremy does his part by hiding behind the taller man’s thin legs, though they offer him very little coverage. The car arrives within the next few minutes, slowing down the minute the driver catches sight of them, though the vehicle kicks up quite a lot of sand in the process. Both Spy and Jeremy are sent into coughing fits as a result, the latter’s sounding more akin to hacking or choking on account of him having asthma. The sound of his child’s painful coughing reaching his ears prompts Spy to kneel down and pull out the back-up inhaler he always carries with him from his duffel bag, passing it to Jeremy so the young boy can take a deep breath out of the device. In the meantime, the jeep in front of them comes to a complete stop, the driver hopping out and running to check on the duo. Spy gets a good look at him as he approaches, seeing that it’s a short, stocky man wearing wraparound goggles and a yellow construction hat, suggesting that he might be a mechanic of some kind. Is this the engineer that was mentioned in the pamphlet that he was given a few weeks ago, while he was signing up for this job? It seems likely, especially as the stranger steps closer, a tool belt wrapped around his plump torso.

“Well howdy dere, stranger!” The short man greets, his smile wide and friendly as he comes towards Spy, the dust around him still clearing. “I reckon yer the spy dat jus’ got recruited, is dat right? It’s awful nice ta me-” He pauses mid-sentence, finally noticing Jeremy, who’s too preoccupied with trying not to have an asthma attack to greet him properly. “What the _ Sam hell? _ Why’s a lil’ kid out ‘ere!?” He asks, equal parts angry as he is surprised.

“It’s a…  _ long  _ story,” Spy says, letting out a sigh of relief once Jeremy’s breathing has returned to normal, though the little boy still shivers unwillingly in the aftermath. His father rubs his back in soothing circles to comfort him, his eyes still locked onto the southerner in front of him. “I take it zat you are ze…  _ Engineer, _ correct?”

“Yeah, dat’s me,” Engineer confirms, still confused as he gives Jeremy a very concerned look from afar. “Is he gonna be alright? He don’t look so good.”

Spy feels a bit of relief when he hears how genuinely worried for Jeremy this Engineer fellow is, but he chooses not to thank him for it. “He will be fine; he just has aszma, zat’s all.” He explains, all while scooping Jeremy up into his arms, something that’s made much more difficult since he’s carrying so much luggage.

Noticing the taller man’s plight, Engineer steps forward and takes his duffel bag and suitcase for him, quickly tossing them into the back of the jeep. “How ‘bout you ‘n the tyke hop on in? The Administrator told me ta come out ‘ere ta get y’all, but she didn’t mention no kids, so I’m sorry if I ain’t got nothin’ for him to play wid on the way over. Don’t worry though, we ain’t too far from da base, so it won’t be a long drive!”

“Do not fret, I shall let him rest during ze drive; ze poor boy must be  _ exhausted  _ after inhaling so much sand,” Spy explains, carefully setting Jeremy in the backseat of the jeep with the rest of his luggage. He leans down once the child is settled, making sure only his son will hear him speak. “Just sleep, mon fils… don’t worry, Papa won’t let anyzing bad happen to you. Just sleep, petit lapin.”

Jeremy simply nods, not having enough energy to argue over whether or not he needs a nap. His son more or less taken care of, Spy drapes his suit jacket over the dozing boy, before clambering into the shotgun seat of the car, Engineer already behind the wheel and just…  _ watching  _ him. The stare makes him uneasy, so much so that Spy doesn’t even  _ try  _ to start a conversation, instead moving to light a cigarette, but at the thought of the smoke possibly triggering another asthma attack for his son… fitfully, he pockets the case again, deciding to just deal with the itch until he’s away from his kid. Not like that will happen anytime soon though, especially if his other teammates are as bloodthirsty as most mercenaries Spy’s met, but seeing as Engineer has been rather kind so far, the Frenchman feels a small pulse of hope in his chest at the thought that the others might be the same way. Engineer continues to level a look at Spy, but once it becomes clear that the new recruit isn’t willing to open up about what’s going on with the kid, he sighs, wordlessly starting up the jeep and turning it around, beginning to drive back to RED base. Secretly, Spy appreciates the southerner’s tactfulness, relieved that he has a moment to gather his thoughts, the sound of his child’s lulled breathing putting him more and more at ease as the car draws ever closer to the compound in the distance.

Unfortunately, the silence doesn’t last forever, which shouldn’t be too surprising, considering the fact that no man can keep from questioning the world around him forever. “So…” Engineer goes for a somewhat slow approach, more or less giving Spy the opportunity to speak, but when he doesn’t, the other mercenary just keeps going, hoping to break down his walls through small-talk. “I reckon dat kid’s yours, right? How old’s the lil’ fella? Don’t look much older den five ‘r six.”

“Sept,” Spy says, but just as quickly he shakes his head, correcting himself in a heartbeat. “My apologies, I meant to say  _ seven; _ ze boy is seven years old.”

“Gotcha,” Engineer doesn’t give him any flak for the translation error, a small smile coming to rest on his face, more of a nervous thing than anything else. “Seven years old, huh? Got anymore kids, ‘r jus’ the one?”

Spy hesitates, not sure what he should and shouldn’t say, but seeing as his son will no doubt tell everyone on-base everything there is to know about their family once he’s given the opportunity… “He is my only biological offspring, but he has seven older brozers at home zat I am also raising.”

_ “Eight kids!? _ Boy howdy, ‘n I thought  _ my  _ daddy was wild fer havin’  _ five!” _ Engineer jokes, his voice full of nostalgia. “Goodness me, you must be quite da family man, am I right? Hey man, I’m the same way. I’ve got ‘bout four lil’ ones at home, though the oldest ain’t so little no more. He’s nearly thirteen!”

“Zen he is almost as old as Patrick,” Spy says, and despite never talking about his sons to people, especially not coworkers, he feels…  _ warm. _ It’s nice to pretend he and Engineer aren’t murderers and are just simple husbands, shooting the breeze in someplace that isn’t a literal war-zone. “What is his name? You do not have to say, of course, I am simply curious, zat is all.” He asks, trying to keep the conversation going in hopes of feeling more at ease.

“How ‘bout you tell me your lil’ one’s name first?” Engineer offers, and while he doesn't say it in an aggressive manner, it’s clear that he needs Spy to give him more information before he keeps going.

Spy hesitates, before complying to the southerner’s request. “His name is Jeremy… named after mon père,” He explains, offhandedly fumbling with the cigarette case in his pocket, tempted to take out the only picture he has of his father to gaze at it, but he holds back, not wanting to be quite that vulnerable right now. “So… your oldest son’s name, non?” He moves on, hoping Engineer won’t give him any trouble for his emotional state.

Engineer doesn’t, much to the Frenchman's relief. “His name’s August,” He smiles as he says it, such warmth in his expression that despite wearing goggles that obscure his eyes, Spy can tell that the man in his company loves his family more than life itself. “After him’s the twins, May ‘n April, ‘n den our lil’ Marchie.”

Spy sits on that for a minute, eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. “Zey are…  _ all  _ named after months,” He comments, putting two and two together rather quickly. “I sincerely hope zey do not hold zat against you in zeir teenage years.”

“If they wanna get mad at anybody, it better be deir mama, ‘cus I let  _ ‘er  _ name most ‘a them,” Engineer explains, laughing again, though Spy suspects it’s about something concerning his wife. “I swear, June comes up with da  _ best  _ names… she puts the stars in the sky, I swear she does.”

Spy smiles, but otherwise doesn’t respond, letting a comfortable silence encompass the car. After all, if they keep this up and get into  _ “gushing about our wives” _ territory, he’s gonna end up crying like a child about how much he misses her, and he  _ really  _ doesn’t need to look like more of a mess in front of his teammate than he already does.

Engineer seems to catch the hint, going silent as well as the jeep approaches the gate protecting the outside of RED base. There’s an intercom stationed outside of it, but no words need to be spoken, as someone on the other end opens the gates the  _ minute  _ they see the car and it’s driver. Internally, Spy scoffs at this, making a mental note to warn his new teammates that such blind trust will likely lead to a lot of unnecessary deaths. As the car cruises past the gates and towards the garage, Spy glances at his surroundings, surprised by how little damage has been done to the area around RED base despite the war going on. That gets the smallest of smirks out of the Frenchman, as he hopes that this is a sign that keeping his son in the base at all times will actually keep him safe. Speaking of his son, Jeremy stays fast asleep in the backseat, hardly even bothered by the sudden bumping and jostling of the vehicle he’s in.  _ He’s always been a heavy sleeper, just like his mother and brothers.  _ Shaking his head, Spy pushes the thought to the back of his mind, not wanting to be reminded of the rest of his family back in Boston, not when he’s already so stressed out. The second the jeep is parked in front of the base, three men come filtering out of the compound, the lot of them smiling politely at the newcomer. However, their smiles all simultaneously drop when Spy gets out of the car, circles around to the backseat, and picks his slumbering son up.

The largest man of the trio, whose head is shaved, is the first to speak. “You… have child?” He asks, sounding absolutely  _ astonished  _ by this. “Heavy was told that no children would be in battle. Is not child soldier, yes?”

“He’s my son,” Spy says, getting that out of the way while he can. He slings his backpack over his shoulder, intending on getting the rest of his luggage later. “Now if you will excuse me, I am very tired, and I would like to get settled.”

“Now hold on a moment, laddie,” A man sporting an eye-patch orders, making a point out of getting between Spy and the front door to the base. “Ya can’t jus’ be draggin’ a pint-sized lil’ kiddie inta battle widout an explanation first!”

“I shall explain everyzing later,” Spy assures, trying to push past the other mercenary, but he refuses to move, causing the Frenchman to scowl at him. “I am only going to ask you zis one time; please move out of my way.”

“I think da bloody hell not!” The other merc quips, looking tempted to smile, but he just can’t under these circumstances. His single eye glances down at Jeremy again, a twinkle of genuine worry in his chocolate brown iris. “Come on, matie, dere ain’t no need ta be cheeky; jus’ tell us what’s goin’ on ‘ere!”

Spy wordlessly throws his backpack to the ground, ready to take a swing at his unnamed coworker, but before he can, Engineer runs to get between them. “Come on now, boys, dere ain’t no need to fight none, ‘specially not in front ‘a the lil’ one!” He says, trying to keep the peace despite his coworkers looking ready to maul each other. “How ‘bout we let our new recruits ‘ere settle in, ‘n den we can ask Spy all the questions we want, alright?”

Spy and the other mercenary share a short glare between them, before very reluctantly, the latter man backs down first, his smile finally appearing, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Aight, we’ll let da spook get comfortable… but after dat, he betta have a  _ damn  _ good reason for dis shite!”

“I  _ will,” _ Spy bites out, finally allowed to walk past the one-eyed man, only to run right into someone who looks to be the resident doctor. “Are you planning on interrogating me as well, or are you going to get ze hell out of my way?” He asks, all of his patience gone after having to deal with the last mercenary.

Thankfully, the doctor side-steps out of the way. “Go right on ahead, meine friend,” He offers, his accent sounding distinctly German. “And just so you are avare, I am ze medic of our team, and I am vell-trained in all zinks a doctor should know, includink medicine and medical practices for children of all ages. If zat Kind is to be stayink vith us, I assure you zat I am  _ more  _ zan capable of providink care for zem.”

“Fantastic,” Spy says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now, if you shall excuse me _ please.” _ He hurries past the doctor, ignoring the fact that the four other mercenaries are all staring at him as he shuffles inside, their gazes judgemental from the Frenchman’s point of view.

The  _ minute  _ he’s turned a corner further into the base, and is out of direct sight, Spy feels his shoulders relax a fraction, but he doesn’t let his guard down just yet. Instead, he hurries to find the nearest empty bedroom available to him, all while his new teammates shuffle into the base after him, still watching the newcomer from afar, though they have the decency to avert their eyes whenever their target glances their way. Spy secretly feels a bit bad for being so rude to everyone, aware that he’s making a terrible first impression, but he can’t help but feel frazzled with his son in such an awful position, making him insufferable to be around at the moment. Out of pity from seeing Spy in such a state, Engineer offers him a smile, and silently, he leads him to one of the empty bedrooms in the base, even going so far as to hold the door open for the other struggling father. Spy gives him a shaky sort of smile in return, probably looking like a wreck as he hurries into the room, letting out a long sigh once the handyman shuts the door behind him, leaving the other merc alone for the time being. Finally free of his teammates, Spy takes a seat on the only bed in the small bedroom, carefully laying his sleeping son down, but not before pulling back the sheets so Jeremy can be more comfortable. After tucking the boy in, his father just watches him in silence, his throat tight with nervous knots, but he doesn’t let them keep him quiet forever.

“Oh, mon fils… comment diable vais-je vous garder en sécurité ici, mon petit lapin?” Spy whispers, pressing a chaste kiss to Jeremy’s forehead. He stays like that for at least twenty or so minutes, just watching his offspring sleep, before reluctantly, he leaves the child be. After all, he needs to go out there and explain some shit to his new team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank god I finally fucking finished this chapter… I only hope you guys actually like this one, ‘cus I’m honestly a bit nervous to post it, but fuck it, I’m too tired to keep second guessing myself. Have an amazing day, and please comment if you have the time; it would absolutely make my day!
> 
> Btw, for those who are curious, here's what was said throughout the fic in French between Spy and Scout (fair warning, I used Google Translate because I don't actually know any languages other than English):
> 
> Spy when he was scolding Scout for insulting the Administrator: “Vous ne parlez pas aux adultes comme ça; vous savez mieux.” = “You don't talk to adults like that; you know better.”
> 
> Spy when he was being self-deprecating in front of Scout: “vous êtes trop innocent pour avoir un père aussi horrible.” = “you are too innocent to have such a horrible father.”
> 
> Spy at the very end while Scout is asleep: “Oh, mon fils… comment diable vais-je vous garder en sécurité ici, mon petit lapin?” = “Oh my son… how the hell am I going to keep you safe here, my little rabbit?”


	4. Children Require Adult Supervision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When dat depression episode hits, all I do is type words, eat Ruffle chip, and lie.

The thing that wakes Jeremy up is, primarily, the sudden drop in temperature. He shivers as he comes to, the world around him fuzzy and wrong as he blinks repeatedly, struggling to wake himself up. He’s honestly tempted to just roll over and keep sleeping, but the longer he’s conscious, the more energized he feels. Sitting up, Jeremy yawns, stretching his arms over his head as he blinks away the last of his fatigue. He glances around the room he’s in, confused when he sees he’s someplace new. Don’t get him wrong, he’s fallen asleep many times without meaning to, but he usually wakes up in his bedroom and not a strange, empty room he’s never seen before. The walls around Jeremy are completely bare of any posters or decorations, suggesting it’s a boring adult’s room. Where on earth  _ is  _ he? Sluggishly, the child forces himself out of bed, shivering as his bare feet hit the floor; where did his socks go? After looking around a bit, Jeremy finds them kicked under the bed, so he pulls them on as fast as he can, not wanting his toes to freeze off. With that taken care of, he paces the room up and down, looking for anything familiar, but nothing really sticks out… wait, that’s Captain Cat! The boy finds his cat stuffed animal sitting upright in a wheely chair, the toy facing the bed, drawing his attention back to it. Half sticking out from under covers is Monsieur Crab, Jeremy silently surprised when he realizes that he hadn’t noticed his best friend sooner.

Running back to the bed, Jeremy pulls Monsieur Crab out of his makeshift prison, dusting off the stuffie out of habit. “Where do ya think we are, Monsieur Crab?” He asks the toy, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to think. “I ‘member bein’ with Papa ‘n meetin’ Emily ‘n her mean mom, but… what happened after that? I don’t remember…” He huffs, frustrated by his lack of knowledge. “We better find Papa; I bet  _ he  _ knows what happened!”

His mind made up, Jeremy takes Monsieur Crab to the door, having to stand up on his tiptoes to reach it, but to the child’s surprise, the door is locked. “What the!? Why’s it  _ locked?” _ He asks, growling as he let’s go of his plushie, trying to pull on the doorknob with both hands, but it won’t budge! After several seconds of yanking on it, Jeremy gives up, glancing around for something to help him… his eyes land on a bobby pin on a nearby desk, a smirk overtaking his face when he sees it. “Good thing Mal taught me how ta do this!” He says, taking the bobby pin to use as a lockpick.

It takes a bit of maneuvering, but Jeremy gets the door unlocked after only a minute or so of fussing with it, letting out a chuckle as the doorknob finally turns for him. However, he bites his lip to keep from laughing too loud, now feeling uneasy. Papa and Ma  _ never  _ lock the doors at home, on the grounds that they don’t want their children getting trapped during an emergency, so the presence of a locked door makes Jeremy suspicious. Have he and Papa been kidnapped? If so, where’s Papa? Gulping, the boy cautiously pushes the door open, glancing up and down the hallway to check his surroundings. No sign of anyone. Jeremy forces himself to step out of the room, making his way down the hallway to look around, cautious as he does so, staying low to the ground while still being fast about it, lest someone try to grab him without warning. He hears noises from the other end of the hallway, sounding almost like the low thunder of adult voices, but the youth chooses to go in the opposite direction, not wanting to be caught when he was obviously supposed to stay locked up. Jeremy explores for some time, the building he’s in looking more and more strange to him as he goes, like a school crossed with an office building. Where the heck  _ is  _ he? Is he even in the United States anymore? Only one way to find out, and that’s by finding a map or something, like most spies do in action movies he and his family have watched together.

Eventually, Jeremy comes across a staircase leading up, and as he’s otherwise reached a dead-end that leads him nowhere else, he decides to go upstairs, hoping they lead him somewhere more insightful. To the boy’s relief, he finds a slightly more colorful place, the walls having a long, red line painted horizontally across the whole level, only stopping for doors. The sight reminds Jeremy of his elementary school, so out of habit, he follows along the right hand side, his left hand holding onto one of Monsieur Crab’s claws, his right grazing the wall as he walks. Soon enough, he finds a huge set of double doors, and with nothing else sticking out to him at the moment, he opens them, nearly gasping at the sight in front of him. Before Jeremy is a  _ huge  _ locker room, with a few scattered benches and a long set of lockers lining the walls. Fascinated by this, the boy scuttles inside, clutching his crustacean friend to his chest as he wears his head on a swivel, looking this way and that at his surroundings. The lockers are so big, they could probably fit  _ Papa  _ in one of them! At that thought, Jeremy is horrified, scared that his father is indeed in one of these lockers, but he eventually pushes the thought away; he’d know if Papa was in here ‘cus it would stink with smoke! Nonetheless, the child is curious about this new place, and seeing as he still has his bobby pin…

“Come on, Monsieur Crab,” Jeremy says, puffing up his chest to look more tough. “Let’s look for somethin’ dat can help us find Papa!”

* * *

It is very,  _ very  _ rare that Spy, renowned assassin and secret family man, feels outnumbered. More often than not, he can outgun anyone and anything, no matter the circumstances, but  _ this…  _ well, it makes him feel like he does when soccer moms interrogate him at PTA meetings; like a deer in the headlights. At least during those awful encounters, Becky always had his back, but here with a bunch of fellow mercenaries, Spy can’t keep from awkwardly fidgeting in place, uncomfortable no matter how hard he tries to adjust the seat he’s in. The other killers are scattered haphazardly throughout the lounge- at least, it  _ looks  _ like a lounge, though it seems to be more or less unused- Heavy and Medic sprawled out on the couch, Demoman pacing around the room, and Engineer sitting cross-legged in an armchair. The group has been more than patient so far, giving Spy his space while he tries to get everything he needs to say out, with Engineer asking most of the questions that he knows his teammates want to have answered. That just makes the Frenchman even  _ more  _ unnerved, seeing as his teammates already look to be rather in-sync with each other, making him more of an outcast than he already is. It’s not like Spy came out here looking to make new friends, of course- in fact, he tries not to develop anything but resentment for the mercenaries he’s sometimes made to cooperate with during jobs- but it  _ is  _ unsettling to be the odd man out within only a few hours of meeting everyone.

Knocking back a shot of whiskey that Demoman gave him earlier, Spy tries to continue his explanation from earlier, his head aching from the stress of it all. “In short, mon f- I mean, my  _ son  _ accidentally accompanied me on zis assignment, as after my partner and I had gone to bed, ze boy decided to leave me a gift in my duffel bag. Zis should have been an easy task, except for ze fact zat Jeremy believed zat the stuffed cat he was leaving me would be  _ ‘scared’  _ if it was made to  _ ‘sleep alone’  _ in my luggage, so he zought it beneficial to sleep with it overnight. Unfortunately, Jeremy is a very heavy sleeper, and seeing as his mozer is ze one who grabbed ze duffel bag for me zis morning, and did not zink to double-check it since we were short on time… I swear, I  _ never  _ would have willingly brought my own son with me for a job, but by ze time I knew what had happened, ze Administrator refused to let me take him home, resulting in him now staying here until zis cursed war is over with.”

Silence encompasses the room, the mercenaries stewing on that information for awhile, until finally, Engineer speaks up for the team. “Why didn’t the Administrator jus’ take ‘im home, huh? Don’t see why she wouldn’t do dat, if it meant that we could avoid da trouble ‘a havin’ ‘im out ‘ere ‘n in danger.”

Spy doesn’t get to answer, Medic choosing to do that for him. “Ze Administrator is a razer…  _ complex  _ character, meine friend,” He says, arms behind his head as he lazes about on the couch, his legs crossed over Heavy’s lap. “I’fe no doubt zat she is simply doink zis to make Shpy’s life a lifink  _ hell…  _ kleine Schlampe.”

“Should not say such rude things, Doctor,” Heavy scolds, very lightly jostling Medic’s legs as punishment, but the doctor doesn’t remove himself from the other man, content to stay put and simply tolerate Heavy’s scolding. “But… Heavy must agree with Doctor, but in softer way; Administrator is harsh woman, little sympathy. Unlikely to…  _ to…” _ His eyebrows furrow, until he smirks, finding the word he’s looking for. “Unlikely to  _ cooperate  _ with Spy.” He says, appearing almost proud to have remembered the right word in English.

“Afraid dey’re right, partner,” Engineer says, his expression sorrowful as he gives Spy a sympathetic smile. “I doubt da Administrator’s gonna help, if she ain’t offered to by now… guess we’ve got us a kiddo ta raise,” He smiles a little wider now, that nostalgia from when he talked about his family earlier returning in full force. “I know yer in an awful situation, Spy, but I gotta admit, I’m almost jealous ‘a ya… makes me wish June had gotten da job too, so we could have our kids ‘ere. Damn, I bet the twins would  _ love  _ hangin’ wid yer lil’ one!” Engie then grimaces, realizing how that could be taken. “Sorry, partner… shouldn’t be wishin’ fer such a thing, not when yer hurtin’ over it.”

“It’s fine,  _ laborer,” _ Spy assures, smirking a little when Engineer huffs at the nickname. “So zen, are zere any ozer questions, or are you all finally satisfied?”

“How old’s da lil’ fella ‘gain?” Demoman asks, jumping to ask something now that he has the chance to, pausing his incessant pacing to level his stare at Spy.

“I have said it many times, but fine; ze boy is seven years old, and shall be eight in early August,” Spy repeats, rolling his eyes at the drunkard’s pestering. “Anyzing else?”

Demoman thinks on that, before nodding his head. “Aye, jus’ one more, mate. I thank ya fer bein’ honest, but… fer God’s sake, what’re we ‘sposed ta do ‘bout a lil’ one bein’ on base? Don’t need no ankle biter’s playin’ wid me bombs; can’t have ‘im losin’ any fingers.”

Spy nods, glad to have a more useful question be asked. “Do not worry, I shall keep him from getting into anyzing dangerous. Alzough, I must admit, it will be hard to keep ze boy occupied… as him coming here was a mistake on his part as well, he did not pack much of anyzing to occupy his time with, and as much as I love ze boy, he is nozing if not impatient. If left to his own devices for too long…” He sighs, head in hands at the mental image of Jeremy getting into something he shouldn’t. He loves his son, but goddamn, does he know how to get in trouble!

“Aw, don’t worry ‘bout dat none,” Engineer urges, coming over and clapping a reassuring hand on one of Spy’s shoulders, shooting the Frenchman a comforting grin. “Me ‘n June handmade a bunch ‘a our kids’ toys, so I could whip up a few for da lil’ tyke in no time flat!”

“Truly?” When Engineer nods, Spy let’s out another sigh, this one filled with relief. “You are a lifesaver, Engineer… zank you, you have my gratitude.”

“It ain’t no trouble!” Engineer promises, growing visibly excited with the job he’s been given. “So what’s da lil’ guy like? Sports, gadgets, TV? Come on, dere’s gotta be  _ somethin’  _ I can work offa ‘ere, or I might jus’ make ‘im a bunch ‘a bots ta play with!”

Spy ponders for a moment, before a loose smile forms on his face. “Ze boy adores baseball to high heaven; he won’t shut up about it if you ask him to tell you his favorite zings about ze sport. He also likes running around quite a bit, especially with his older brozers.”

Engineer chuckles, amused by the information. “A wild lil’ fella, huh? Sounds an awful lot like most ‘a my kids… say, how ‘bout I ask ‘im myself what he wants? I bet it’d be a great distraction from all dis war nonsense,” He looks away, expression turning grim. “Poor kid… he didn’t ask fer this crap, but now he’s stuck ‘ere. Can’t imagine he’s gonna take dis well, once it all sinks in.”

“You’d be surprised by how resilient zat boy can be,” Spy says, sitting up and trying not to stretch in front of his teammates, lest it make him look weak. “But I agree, he will not react well once ze gravity of his situation sinks in… I should check on him.”

“Oi, can I come?” Demoman asks, stopping his pacing again to grin at the Frenchman who he almost gotten into a fight with earlier. “Come on, I wanna meet da laddie!”

“It vould be nice to see vat all ze fuss is about,” Medic agrees, just as curious about the child as Demoman is, but he’s a little more subtle about it. The doctor then glances at Heavy, raising a single eyebrow at the goliath of a man. “Are you goink to come too?”

Heavy nods, but sends a nervous glance to Spy. “Is… Heavy  _ allowed?” _ He asks, seeing as no one’s actually waited for Spy to agree to this yet.

Spy smiles, appreciating the Russian’s tact. “You may. I only ask zat you give Jeremy time to settle in, and to not crowd ze boy… he may seem quite hardy, and he is, but he is still just a small child, and he is unaccustomed to ze sort of people I work with.”

Any one of the mercenaries could probably fuss about that comment, but none of them do, all too aware of how dangerous their jobs are. “Looks like it’s a field trip den!” Engineer says, smiling as he stretches, making sure to grab his toolbox on his way out of the lounge. “Come on, boys; let’s go meet da lil’ fella!” He cheers, waving for the other mercenaries to follow him.

Of course, Spy ends up having to walk ahead of him, as he wants to be the one to open the door first, but behind him is a small parade made up of the other mercenaries. Engineer takes up the rear, keeping an eye on everyone and whistling a nice tune, with Heavy and Medic side-by-side in front of him, the duo muttering about who knows what in a bastardization of both of their native languages mixed primarily with English, and finally there’s Demoman, who walks directly behind Spy, a skip in his step influenced by alcohol as he hums along to Engineer’s cheerful whistling. Usually Spy would find all of these things unbearably annoying, especially when he feels so trapped out here, and yet… well, there’s a sort of  _ comfort  _ in being surrounded by such a jolly cast of characters, which are all eager to not only meet his son, but keep him safe. It’s definitely preferable to the alternative, with Spy being forced to hide his son in his bedroom at all times, but now… this place isn’t home, and he doesn’t want it to be, but it can at least be safe for his son. Jeremy’s never had uncles before, as Becky had all sisters growing up, and they all live so far away, it would be nice if the boy got to experience more adult male influences in his life. In good time, Spy backtracks back to the bedroom he’s claimed as his own, an easy-going smile on his face, only to freeze in his tracks when he turns the corner and discovers that the door is wide open.

Demoman bumps right into Spy, backing up a step to reorient himself. “Oi! What’s da problem, lad?” He asks, confused as to why the Frenchman stopped. He looks over Spy’s shoulder, his single eye widening when he sees the open door down the hall. “Uh… I take it dat da ankle biter got loose? Shoulda brought some catnip.”

Spy elects to ignore the Scot, instead running to the bedroom, slamming the door open even wider as he looks around, movements frantic and worried. The bed looks to have been completely abandoned, and when the lanky man pulls off one of his gloves and lays a hand on the mattress, he shivers, the fabric long since gone cold, meaning Jeremy’s been missing for at least an hour or so. The Administrator told Spy before he even signed up for this job that he wouldn’t be fighting BLU for  _ at least  _ a few days while he and the rest of his new team got settled, but BLU is still stationed nearby, aren’t they? That means they could sneak into the base while everyone’s distracted with introductions, intending to kill them off early, only to discover a sleeping little boy in an unguarded bedroom, tucked away with only a stuffed crab for protection, and then they could just… oh dear god, they could  _ take his son. _ Frazzled, Spy starts tearing the room apart in a desperate search for his child, not finding him under the bed, under the desk, in the closet, anywhere! Where on  _ earth  _ did he  _ go!? _ The door was locked, wasn’t it? Too disoriented to speak or rationalize, Spy damn near collapses onto the bed, head in his hands as his shoulders shake, not sure where to even start. When he glances up again, he finds his teammates in the doorway, their faces painted with concern.

“Shpy… where is your Sohn?” Medic asks, looking around the room in search of the child, as if that alone will reveal the little boy.

“I don’t know,” Spy admits, voice not sounding like his own, more hollow and broken than he’s ever heard it. “I put him to bed- I zought he’d stay sleeping for at least a few hours- but he’s gone, and he could… cher Dieu, what if ze enemy team got in and took him?”

“It’s gonna be okay, partner,” Engineer promises, kneeling down in front of Spy and patting him gently on the back, trying to help him calm down; he knows all too well how terrifying it is to find out that your kid might have run off, especially when you’re both in an unfamiliar place. “Dontcha worry, spook, we’ll find da lil’ fella. He’s gotta be ‘round ‘ere somewhere; he prolly jus’ needed ta use the potty ‘r somethin’. Come on, let’s go ‘n find ‘im, alright?”

“Yeah, we’ll find ‘im!” Demoman agrees, grinning to try and make Spy do the same. “The lil’ one’s prolly playin’ hide ‘n seek, dat’s all. Luckily fer you, he’s facin’ da best player at hide ‘n seek dere’s ever been!”

“Could not have gone far,” Heavy adds, already pulling out a small, folded up map of RED base, which looks to have been drawn by him, judging by the small notes in Russian pointing to different rooms. “Base on lock-down after Spy entered… will check lockers first.”

Medic nods. “Zat’s a great idea, Heafy,” He says, patting Heavy’s shoulder in encouragement. “Meine lab and office should not be unlocked, but I shall check zem nonezeless… do not fret, Shpy, your Kind vill be found in no time!”

Spy takes a few long, deep breaths before he nods, forcing himself to wear an emotionless expression in order to hide his pain. “Right. Zank you all, you have no idea how much I appreciate your assistance… I assure you, Jeremy is quite well behaved, he normally doesn’t-”

Engineer waves him off, chuckling under his breath. “Kids’ll be kids, spook,” He states, not the least bit perturbed by this turn of events. “If dey’re bored, dey’re gonna run off ‘n find somethin’ fun to do, whether we like it ‘r not. When August was real lil’, he ran off at da mall once ‘n scared me ‘n June half ta death, but we found ‘im real quick; he was jus’ playin’ ‘round, didn’t even know why we was so scared. I’m sure Jeremy’s doin’ the same, so let’s go find ‘im.”

“Very well,” Spy agrees, getting up and following the other mercenaries as they begin filing out of the small bedroom, splitting up in order to cover more ground. On the way out, the Frenchman spots his son’s stuffed cat- or rather,  _ his  _ stuffed cat now- and he scoops it up, looking the soft plushie over in his hands. “Oh, Jeremy… mon fils, you never cease to make ton père worry about you.” He murmurs, bringing Captain Cat with him in his search for his son.

* * *

After gathering a few supplies, Jeremy searches the locker room for anything else, possibly an alternate escape route, as down the hall, he can hear what he believes to be footsteps. Their owner isn’t here quite yet, but based off of their occasional pauses, and the sound of opening doors ringing down the hallway, it seems like they’ll be checking this room very soon. “Do ya think those BLU bullies captured Papa by now, Monsieur Crab?” Jeremy asks his stuffie, taking it upon himself to nod the toy’s body up and down in agreement. “Yeah, as tough as Papa is, bad guys ‘re bad guys… we gotta go save ‘im!” Glancing above the lockers now, the boy’s eyes soon land on a large vent, which has a grate screwed into the wall in order to cover it. “Bingo.” He whispers, making his way over to the locker directly below it.

The locker opens without having to be unlocked, just like most of the lockers in here. Once it’s wide open, Jeremy climbs the shelves like they’re a ladder, having to throw himself up a few times in order to reach the shelves. Luckily, a childhood that’s thus far been spent running around the suburbs of Boston with his big brothers has given him a bit of training, so climbing isn’t hard for him at all. Once on top of the row of lockers, the boy having to stay on his hands and knees or else he’ll hit his head against the ceiling, Jeremy works on getting the grate off the wall so he can get into the vents. Unfortunately this is easier said than done, as the grate has been tightly screwed in. Growing frustrated, the child takes the screwdriver he found in one of the lockers out of the satchel he’s using to carry his gear, using the tool to get the screws undone. The second all of the screws are off and scattered on the floor, Jeremy can hear someone right outside of the locker room, not slowing down in the slightest as they head straight for it. Frantically, the boy pulls open the grate and scuttles inside, and just like he’s seen spies do it on TV, he sets the grate back in it’s rightful place once he’s inside, although it’s very shaky, and probably won’t stay upright if the lockers below get banged on. A moment later, the locker room doors swing open, and in walks a goliath of a man, his head completely shaven.

“Hello?” The large man asks, calling out into the locker room as he hesitantly steps inside, looking this way and that for someone. “Little one? Where are you? It is okay, Heavy will not hurt you; Heavy is friend of Spy.” Heavy explains, getting on his hands and knees now to look underneath the benches.

_ “He must be one ‘a Papa’s new teammates, since he’s wearin’ red… but what if he’s a blue guy in disguise?”  _ Jeremy thinks, contemplating on whether or not he should reveal himself to Heavy. In the end, he chooses not to, nervously turning around and following the vent further into the building.

On account of the vents being dark as all hell, Jeremy crawls around more or less blind, having to feel ahead with his hands to find out where he’s going. He goes down a few different tunnels, trying to remember what his father once told him about escaping if he were ever kidnapped:  _ “If you can fit into a nearby vent, get inside of it, zen follow ze airflow to find anozer way out.” _ Jeremy doesn’t exactly know what his father meant by airflow, so he just goes wherever the wind is blowing in hopes that  _ that’s  _ what he meant. After several minutes of crawling, the boy eventually sees light from down one of the tunnels, and seeing as the air is blowing that way, he follows the vent until he reaches another grate. Jeremy looks through the bars, getting a good look at the room; if he had to guess, he’d say it’s some kind of living room, but without any windows. It looks empty, so rolling onto his back, with his feet facing the grate, the child kicks with all his might, having to kick several times in order to finally break the grate off, though it makes the loudest crash when it hits the concrete floor. Flinching, Jeremy curls in on himself, clutching Monsieur Crab for moral support as he waits for someone to come and capture him again… but no one comes to check on the noise, so after taking a deep breath, he counts himself lucky and throws his body out of the vent, thankfully landing on a fluffy couch, only to bounce off of it and face-plant on the floor.

“Ooooooow,” Jeremy whines, sitting up with tears in his eyes. He let’s himself quietly cry for a little while, before he wipes his tears away using the back of his left fist, the other hugging Monsieur Crab in a deathgrip. “I’m okay now, Monsieur… it jus’ hurt really,  _ really  _ bad. If Curtis had done that, I bet he’d be cryin’ like a lil’ baby, but not me, ‘cus I’m tough as nails!” Standing up, the boy shakes himself off, looking around the room with more insight, now that he has a better angle to do so. “Hm… dis don’t look like an secret evil lair, so I don’t think Papa’s trapped in ‘ere anywhere; we should keep lookin’ around.” He readjusts his satchel to hold it better, only to drag it after him as he makes for the door, ready to continue his search.

Before Jeremy can reach the doorknob though, it turns by itself, opening to reveal a man who smells like alcohol, and only has one eye. “Well, I’ll be… I’m guessin’ yer Jeremy, aintcha?” The man asks, laughing when the child just stares up at him in shock, too scared to move or even breathe. “Aw, dontcha fret, lil’ one; I ain’t gonna hurt ya none! Me name’s Demoman, but ya betta off callin’ me Demo,” He has the gall to bend over and ruffle Jeremy’s hair, causing the boy to flinch, which finally gets Demo to back off a bit, his eye full of…  _ concern? _ “You alright, laddie? Come on, let’s take ya back ta ya pappy!”

That finally knocks Jeremy out of his stupor, the boy screeching at the top of his lungs as he grabs a can of soda from his satchel, shakes it up, and opens it to spray directly in Demoman’s face. “I won’t letcha kidnap me  _ or  _ kill my papa, ya big bully!” Jeremy screams, and after the can empties he tosses it at Demo’s head, running between the man’s legs in order to make a break for it.

“Bloody hell!” Demoman yells, falling on his ass after Jeremy takes off on him, scrambling to get up and go after the kid, but he keeps slipping on the soda. At the sound of one of the other mercenaries heading his way, the Scot begins frantically screaming information to them. “Aye, I found ‘im; lil’ ankle biter’s on da run!” He says, struggling to catch his bearings.

In the meantime, Jeremy is off like a bat out of hell, running away and screaming the whole way, only to run into Heavy again. The Russian startles, and wordlessly tries to grab him, but the boy easily outclasses him in speed, and again he’s dashing out of sight, this time losing his satchel in his haste, but he can’t convince himself that it’s worth enough to go back for it, too scared of getting caught to slow down or stop. Jeremy  _ knew  _ he should’ve stayed in the vents; at least  _ then  _ no one could reach him! He just has to find another one, and then he can go back to looking for Papa! Ignoring the sound of footsteps thundering across the floor above him, and the sound of them coming after him from a distance, Jeremy ducks into another room with double doors, this one leading to what looks like an evil laboratory. Papa  _ must  _ be locked away in here somewhere! Too frazzled to stop and celebrate, the boy starts opening every drawer he can reach, throwing out papers and equipment in search of a secret lever or switch, but no such thing is revealed. Could Papa be in some kind of basement? Jeremy considers leaving the laboratory to look elsewhere, but someone with heavy footsteps heading his way convinces him to think better of it, and in a panic, he pulls open an especially large drawer that he emptied earlier and climbs inside, pulling at the roof from the inside to close it, effectively hiding him from sight. A minute later and the double doors open, a pair of footsteps freezing in their tracks near the doorway, likely shocked by the mess.

“Mein Gott… I do  _ not  _ get paid enough for zis,” A German-sounding man comments, treading carefully into the room. Jeremy hears almost nothing but shuffling for awhile, whoever’s outside silently cleaning up his mess, until another pair of footsteps enters the room. “Oh, hello Demoman… vat is ze matter? You look as zough you vere ran ofer!”

“It was da damned kid, Medic,” Demoman pants, out of breath after getting knocked on his ass earlier. “Have ya seen da lil’ brat? Heavy said he ran dis way.”

“Vell, he has certainly been in meine office… made a terrible mess of it.” Medic explains, followed by the shuffling of more papers.

“Couldn’t ‘a made dis mess  _ dat  _ fast… kid must still be in ‘ere, jus’ hidden real good,” Demoman says, and Jeremy gulps as he hears someone lock the double doors to the office. “Start lookin’ ‘round, Doc; he’s gotta be ‘round here somewhere. At least now we’ve got ‘im cornered!”

“Man soll den Tag nicht vor dem Abend loben,” Medic mutters, likely rolling his eyes. When this is followed by awkward silence, the doctor sighs, explaining what he said to the Scot. “Don’t praise ze day before ze evenink.”

Demoman chuckles, amused by the phrase. “Yer jus’ full ‘a does, Doc,” He says, his footsteps drawing closer, before he begins opening drawers in a frenzy. “Come out come out wherever ya are, lil’ one. Come on now, I ain’t mad at ya, I jus’ wanna getcha back wid yer pappy!”

“Gott verdammt, I  _ just  _ sorted zose!” Medic snaps, coming over and smacking Demoman upside the head for disrupting his workspace. “Vhy not go and make yourself useful by findink Heafy, hm? I shall continue lookink for ze Kind.”

“Fine by me,” Demoman agrees in a heartbeat, and internally Jeremy smirks, believing that the man is scared of him after their encounter a few minutes ago. “If ya find ‘im, give a holler, wontcha? Don’t need ya gettin’ jumped by no ankle biter!”

“Please, I hafe seen  _ much  _ scarier zen anyzink a Kind can zrow at me,” Medic promises, shooing Demoman out the door. After the door opens and closes again, the doctor let’s out a long, heavy sigh. “…You know, Jeremy, no one here intends on harmink you, ja? Do you zink zat ve are ze blue team, Kleiner? Ve are not in any vay associated vith zem. Please, zere is no need to cause such a fuss… please come out, I  _ promise  _ not to hurt you.”

Jeremy hesitates, wondering if he can really trust this guy… but he’ll get caught soon enough, won’t he? He’s trapped, and seeing as there’s only one person in here right now, but more on the way… maybe if he’s lucky, he can negotiate with him? If nothing else, the boy hopes he can convince these guys to let his father go and just take him instead, even if that means he might die. Struggling not to shiver with dread, Jeremy pushes the drawer he’s in open very,  _ very  _ slowly, terrified that at any moment, Medic will grab the handle and yank it open. This doesn’t happen, but the kid is still pretty uneasy, slowly sitting up to look around, his eyes quickly landing on a tall, intimidating man with glasses and a long lab coat on.  _ He must be the doctor. _ The minute they make eye contact, Medic gives Jeremy a small smile, which looks a bit creepy in all honesty, but it’s better than the man running and trying to grab at him like the other ones have done. Shyly, the boy waves back, draws his knees up to his chest while still hugging Monsieur Crab, the stuffed animal making him just a bit less afraid. It stays tense and quiet for a moment, neither male willing to break eye contact, until eventually, Medic raises a foot, and while still looking at Jeremy, he sets it down in front of himself. He does this over and over again, sluggishly inching closer and closer, until he’s directly in front of the open drawer. The doctor crouches, getting at eye level with the child.

“I take it zat you are Jeremy, ja? Ze Spy’s Sohn?” Medic asks, obviously trying not to come off as too intimidating, but it’s hard when intimidation is a large part of his work.

“Um…  _ maybe,” _ Jeremy offers, hesitant as he looks the doctor up and down, struggling not to squirm in front of a stranger. “How am I ‘sposed to know I can trust ya, huh? How do I know ya ain’t a blue guy in disguise, ‘n that ya ain’t gonna hurt me ‘r mon père?”

Medic wears the smallest of smirks, amused by Jeremy’s tentative behavior. “I do not hafe much proof, but I svear on my vord zat I am  _ not  _ lyink to you, Jeremy… vould you like to shake on it?” He holds out his left hand to the child, gaze expectant.

That makes Jeremy feel a little bit better, believing that the doctor is actually treating him with respect, something he rarely gets. “Okay,” He agrees, nervously shaking Medic’s hand with his own puny one, the doctor’s large hand completely encapsulating his own. After the handshake has finished, he pulls away, looking Medic over again. “So… what now? Where’s Papa?”

“I vill take you to him shortly,” Medic promises, and gently, he picks Jeremy up and gets him out of the drawer, just as quickly setting him back down before he can freak out about being picked up by a stranger. The doctor then grimaces again at the mess in his office, hands on his hips as he looks it over. “Before zat zough… vould you be so kind as to help me clean zis mess up? I hafe a feelink Archimedes and his family did not make it, and now zat ve are friends, I vould appreciate it if you helped me in meine  _ ‘hour of need’  _ as zey call it.”

Jeremy blushes at that, embarrassed to have made such a big mess, and although he loathes cleaning his room almost as much as he does homework, he gives a shy nod. “Yes, Monsieur… I’m sorry fer messin’ your office up; I thought dere might be a secret switch leadin’ to a torture chamber where Papa was bein’ kept, so I was tryin’ ta find it.”

Medic let’s that sink in, before he let’s out a loud, joyful laugh.  _ “Hahaha!  _ Mon amie, you should have checked under ze desk; zat is vere  _ all  _ scientists store zeir secret passagevays.”

“Really?” Jeremy asks, fascinated by this new information. “In da movies, they’re always in da first drawer the good guy opens!”

“Zen you and I are vatchink fery different films,” Medic says, and rather gently, he sets a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, pushing him towards a large mess of paperwork. “Vould you be so kind as to gazer zose up into neat little piles for me? You do not need to sort zem; I shall do zat myself later.”

“Yeah, I can do dat,” Jeremy agrees without argument, glad that his job won’t be as complicated as he feared it would be. “Anythin’ else?” He may as well ask, just to make sure the doctor doesn’t tell on him to his dad later for making such a big mess.

“Nein, but zank you for askink; you hafe fery good manners.” Medic praises, ruffling Jeremy’s hair before the boy plops down on the floor, beginning to do as he was told by stacking the paperwork into semi-neat piles all around him.

Jeremy smiles at that, and quietly, he does his best to clean up his mess, internally hoping that Medic isn’t lying to him about being Papa’s friend; he seems really nice, and he’d hate to see him get stabbed to death by his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, Medic is the best babysitter ever while Demoman and Heavy are trying their best, but I’m sure Jeremy will warm up to them once he gets to meet them under better circumstances! Pretty quick update this time, huh? Well, hopefully this groove will last, but we’ll see I guess. Have an awesome day, and please comment if you enjoyed this chapter; it would really make my day!


	5. Something to Write Home About

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I barely beta-read this, so it is now your burden to bear ‘cus I’m lazy as hell. I’m so sorry; I finally got this thing done, and I didn’t want to delay it any longer. Hopefully the next chapter will come out sooner than this one did… hope you enjoy!

About an hour into the search, while Spy is busy tearing apart the most used kitchen in the base, he hears what sounds like a stampede coming his way. He swings around within seconds of hearing the sound, ready to crouch down and grab his son in-case Jeremy is the one running, but the only people who are coming his way are revealed to be Heavy and Demoman. “What on earth are you two running for?” Spy asks, giving the two men a disgusted once-over. He sniffs the air, recoiling at the smell. “And what ze  _ hell  _ is zat smell? It smells like warm tonic.”

“You can thank ya lil’ one for dat,” Demoman grumbles, crossing his arms with a huff. “Lil’ shite doused me in soda ‘fore makin’ a run for it. Actually, dat’s why we’re ‘ere, spook.”

“Doctor found your little one,” Heavy states, skipping the stage where Spy would typically interrogate them for more details; thank god the Russian is straight to the point. “Is in Doctor’s office; should be safe, according to Doctor.”

“Oi, I found ‘im  _ first,  _ big guy!” Demoman corrects, looking offended that Heavy didn’t mention him in his explanation.

“Does not matter, so long as little one is returned to his father,” Heavy says, rolling his eyes at Demoman. “Should talk less, Scotsman… excessive words not useful in slightest bit.”

Demoman huffs, glaring up at Heavy now. “The fuck’s dat mean, lad?” He asks, looking about ready to throw down with the other man. “I promise ya, ain’t any ‘a me words empty threats!”

Spy growls under his breath, entirely unimpressed with the argument happening in front of him. “I don’t have time for zis nonsense,” He mutters, sparing Heavy a small nod. “Zank you for telling me where mon fils is. Now, if you shall excuse me.” Without another word, he shoulders past the other mercenaries, forcing himself not to outright run for the sake of his dignity. After all, if his kid is okay, then there’s no reason to rush.

Spy leaving seems to knock the others out of their bickering, and they’re quick to follow after him, not that the Frenchman cares, as he has more pressing matters to worry about. Why on earth did Jeremy run off after he woke up? Does he think he’s somewhere unsafe? To be fair, he passed out almost as soon as Engineer showed up, so he doesn’t really  _ know  _ anyone here, and with how much paranoia his father has instilled in him concerning strangers… the poor boy, he probably thinks he’s been kidnapped or something equally as terrifying. Although Spy feels bad that his son has likely been scared half to death, he still takes a small amount of pride in the fact that Jeremy has apparently managed to not only incapacitate Demoman long enough to get away from him, but also outran both him and Heavy. He’d make for a good scout, if he gave it a shot as an adult. Shaking the thought away, Spy scolds himself for even  _ imagining  _ such a thing. No, his son will  _ never  _ follow the same blood-soaked path as his father… after all, that’s what he’s fighting for, isn’t it? To give his family a better life? Yes, he is, and despite Jeremy no doubt being a very talented and prodigal child for criminal work, his father will never allow him to pursue such a dangerous career. Soon enough, Spy reaches the doctor’s office, pausing in front of the double doors. He tries to push them open, but to his surprise, they’re locked. Did Medic have to  _ corner  _ Jeremy in order to catch him? That couldn’t have ended well.

“Doctor?” Spy asks, politely knocking on one of the doors. “Doctor, are you in zere? I have been told mon fils may be in zere with you, and I came to help find him.”

“Papa!?” A familiar voice shrieks, and seconds later, the doors swing open, nearly breaking Spy’s nose with how hard they’re swung, but he steps back just in time to avoid being hit. In the doorway stands Jeremy, the boy grinning up at him, and with another happy shout, he tackles his father’s legs in a tight hug.

Spy chuckles under his breath at the sight, crouching down to be at Jeremy’s level in order to give him a proper hug. “Hello zere, mon fils… it seems you’ve been up to a fair bit of mischief, haven’t you?”

Jeremy backs up at that, subtly folding his hands behind his back to protect his backside. “I thought we was  _ kidnapped, _ Papa,” The boy explains, not wanting to get in trouble for just trying to protect himself. “When I woke up, I was locked in a room, so I thought those blue guys kidnapped us… I picked da lock ‘n tried ta find ya, Papa, I really did, but this place is  _ really  _ big!”

Spy has to fight with himself not to smile, proud of how courageous his son has been, even if it  _ was  _ unneeded. “Zat was very brave of you to do, Jeremy… but rest assured, we are not with ze BLU team. In fact, we are with Papa’s new teammates.”

“Oh,” Jeremy says, looking over Spy’s shoulder to see Heavy and Demoman, who he quickly gives a nervous wave and smile. “Um… désolé, messieurs,” He whispers, looking more akin to a man about to hang than a seven-year-old who might be in trouble. “I didn’t mean ta run from ya, or shoot tonic atcha, but I thought ya were bad guys in disguise ‘r somethin’.”

Both men, thank god, are very quick to forgive him. “Aw, don’t worry ya lil’ head ‘bout it, laddie,” Demoman orders, laughing it off in no time flat. “Gotta admit, it was pretty damn funny in retrospect, a lil’ one kickin’ my arse ‘n all. Yer one  _ fast  _ sonofabitch, junior!”

“Do not swear in front of little one,” Heavy scolds, smacking Demoman gently on the back, which feels more like a slap across the face than the light tap it was meant to be. The giant of a man then smiles warmly at Jeremy, letting out a loose chuckle of his own. “But Demolition Man is correct; child very fast, faster even than  _ bullet.” _

Jeremy manages to smile at that, uplifted by the praise.  _ “Really? _ Ya think I’m fast?” He asks, feeling just a bit prideful; after all, he very rarely gets complimented by anyone other than his parents, so this is a pretty big deal for him.

“‘Course ya are, laddie,” Demoman repeats, stepping forward so he can ruffle Jeremy’s hair affectionately. “But don’t go lettin’ it get to ya head none. Heck, ya don’t wanna be as prideful as ya pappy.”

“Rude,” Spy mutters, rolling his eyes as his son giggles. He glances down at Jeremy again, before standing up, taking the boy’s hand in his as he heads into Medic’s office. “Doctor? Are you here?” He asks, calling out to the doctor.

“Ja,” Medic answers, and when Spy steps deeper into the room, he finds the German crouched in front of one of his desks, setting a large stack of papers inside. “Zere we are, nice and tidy… I see zat you have been reunited vith dein Sohn.”

“Yes, I have. Zank you for finding him for me, Doctor. I hope he was not much trouble, alzough he did not mean to cause it out of maliciousness.” Spy says, picking Jeremy up to keep the kid close to him, still a bit on edge after believing he’d been kidnapped for over a little over two hours.

Medic scoffs, waving off Spy’s worry like it’s nothing, before… did he just  _ wink  _ at Jeremy? What is he hiding? “He vas  _ no  _ trouble at all, Shpy… in fact, he was quite helpful to me! You seen, meine birds got loose and caused hafoc in ze office, and Jeremy vas kind enough to help me clean up ze mess zey made. Veren’t you, Kleiner?”

Almost frantically, Jeremy nods in agreement. “Uh, yeah, the birds… they were goin’  _ crazy, _ Papa!” He explains, holding up his arms as if they were birds' wings. “You shoulda seen ‘em, they were flyin’ _ everywhere,  _ ‘n me ‘n Medic had ta catch ‘em ‘n then clean up their super big mess, which I did not make, because that would be bad and I wouldn’t do somethin’ like dat.”

“I  _ see,”  _ Spy says, well aware that Jeremy and Medic are lying, but seeing as whatever mess was made has been cleaned up, he won’t fuss about it. “Well, zank you very much for being so kind to ze doctor, Jeremy.”

“Vous êtes les bienvenus,” Jeremy replies, laying his head on his father’s shoulder. He doesn’t doze off, but he definitely looks pretty tired… or  _ bored. _ Possibly both. “So, um… when is Ma gonna come get me?” He asks, giving Spy a somewhat worried look. “Is she gonna come really soon,  _ or…  _ I know dat Administrator lady said I couldn’t go home, but she was lyin’, wasn’t she? Won’t Ma be scared when she can’t find me?”

There’s a tense silence, the other mercenaries looking away and cringing, though they try to hide their reactions from the child. “Jeremy, mon fils… unfortunately, ze Administrator was not lying when she said zat you cannot return home. We are in a very dangerous place, and zere is no way out until zis war is over with.”

Jeremy sits on that for a minute, eyes filling with tears. They come trailing down his face in no time, before he averts his gaze, sniffling pitifully. “But… can’t I at least tell Mama I’m  _ sorry? _ Papa, she’s gonna be  _ so  _ mad, I don’t-”

“-It will be alright,” Spy assures, hugging Jeremy in an instant, ignoring the eyes of his teammates on him. “I will call her right away, and once I am done explaining everyzing to her, I shall let you talk to her. Don’t worry, Jeremy, she won’t be angry with you. If  _ anyone  _ is to blame for zis, it is  _ ton père.” _

“Why would she be mad at  _ you, _ Papa?” Jeremy asks, his tears halting when faced with such an odd scenario. “I’m the one who messed up, right? Besides, you’re her favoritest person  _ ever; _ she could  _ never  _ be mad at ya, at least not for forever!”

Spy bites back a sigh, resisting the urge to tell his child that his mother has been mad at him many times before, and that just because they’re married doesn’t mean they’re immune from being frustrated with one another… but that’s a lot to explain to a seven-year-old, and he really needs to call his wife soon, so the less time he has to spend putting this off, the better. “You shall understand when you are older,” Spy eventually says, and although he hates giving his son such a piss-poor answer, it will just have to do for right now. “In ze meantime, how about we get you dressed in somezing a little more presentable, and zen you can spend time getting to know les collègues de votre père, non?”

At first Jeremy looks excited, but then he clams up a little, averting his eyes in thinly veiled fear, making him look shyer than he is. “But… aren’t they  _ mad  _ at me, Papa? Dr. Medic is really nice, but I dunno if anybody else is gonna like me much after I thought they were bad guys.” He asks, looking oh so afraid, it breaks his father’s heart.

“You don’t need to worry about zat, mon fils,” Spy promises, hugging the child to his chest. He keeps talking, but he isn’t even looking at Jeremy when he speaks; instead, he’s leveling the coldest glare he can at the other men in his company, promising them certain death if they so much as spook the kid. “Zey do not have ton père permission to discipline you, and if zey try to do anyzing to harm you, I shall not hesitate to end zeir careers early. Do you understand? Zere is nozing zey can do to harm you, at least not wizout invoking my wrath. Isn’t zat right, gentlemen?”

Spy certainly makes for an odd sight at the moment, holding his son oh so gently, and giving his teammates what looks like a kind smile; from the outside looking in, he seems like a genuinely nice guy, but he’s trying really hard to be something else, and his teammates know better than to simply ignore it. Very quickly, Demoman nods up a storm, well aware of the hidden threats in Spy’s words, Medic and Heavy also nodding their agreement, but not with quite as much vigor as their coworker. Yes, they know that the Frenchman in front of them is making a threat, and while it’s not  _ entirely  _ empty, they can see past his facade without much effort. Were it not for Jeremy being here, they never would’ve seen anything but this vicious, almost narcissistic version of Spy, but in a way that’s a blessing in disguise, as they can now see what the man is  _ really  _ like; incredibly protective of his family, and terrified of the world around him, so much so that as afraid as he is, he’s willing to put himself between them and his son, and that speaks volumes of the man’s success rate at being a good father. He’s a great dad, even if he’s trying everything in his power to look like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but with a helpless pup in his arms, he’s just a subdued dog with little more than a scary bark and a mean glare, and everyone in the room knows it, even Demoman, who is only nodding as hard as he is to patch up Spy’s pride, and let him feel like he’s as scary as he thinks he is.

There’s a long silence, in which Spy just stares at his new coworkers, wishing that he had a knife in at least one of his hands, but both are too busy supporting Jeremy, the child in question now giving the group of men a confused look. He knows that something is going on here, he just doesn’t know what it is, and Spy can only hope that the boy isn’t blaming himself for this mess.

“You vanted to get ze Kind dressed in somezink else, ja? Go ahead, Shpy; I vill inform ze Engineer zat dein Sohn vas found unharmed, as he vas quite vorried about him,” Medic explains, trying to give Spy the opportunity to walk away and gather himself. “I’m afraid I hafen’t any clozink zat vould fit ze Kind in meine infirmary… Heafy, do you hafe any clozes zat deine Schwestern used to vear in your room?”

“Not with Heavy, no,” Heavy says, tone apologetic. “Old clothes in home’s attic.”

“How unfortunate,” Medic mutters, thinking about it for a few minutes. “Hm… Engineer has Kinder of his own, ja? Some a tad older zan Jeremy, but perhaps seine Frau has gifen him some old clozes for sentimental reasons?”

“I appreciate ze concern, but mon fils can make due with what I have; I don’t want to trouble you all anymore zan I already have.” Spy says, though he’s lying about Jeremy being able to just wear what he has, as he doesn’t think his son will do very well wearing nothing but his dad’s oversized shirts, especially if he can’t get out of here by wintertime.

“What’re y’all talkin’ ‘bout?” A voice calls from down the hall, and seconds later, Engineer appears in the doorway to Medic’s office, a smile appearing on his face when he sees Jeremy. “Well I’ll be; looks like ya found ‘im safe ‘n sound, spook! ‘N here I was worried I was gonna need ta start crawlin’ ‘round the vents lookin’ for ‘im.”

Medic chuckles at that, amused by the mental imagery. “Better yet, perhaps I should install ze little one vith a microchip so zat he does not get himself into such mischief again.”

“Doctor!” Heavy scolds, horrified by the German’s suggestion. “No putting machines in little children’s brains; is not good for them!”

“Don’t worry, Doctor, ze boy is  _ already  _ chipped. I took care of it a few months after he was born,” Spy assures, receiving metaphorical cricket chatter in response, most of the other mercenaries just staring at him in bewilderment. “What? I am one of ze best spies in ze world, and I have a domestic life outside of zis; of  _ course  _ I have ze boy chipped, or else he could be quite easily taken by my enemies.”

“What chip?” Jeremy asks, confused since he got lost pretty early into the adults’ talk, too busy daydreaming about god knows what. Suddenly his eyes widen though, and he smiles, believing he understands. “Oh, do ya mean like  _ potato chips, _ Papa? Can I have some? S'il vous plaît?”

“Only after you have had somezing substantial for breakfast,” Spy says, moving right along in hopes of his teammates getting rid of the shocked expressions on their faces. “Come along, let’s get you somezing from ze kitchen.”

“Wait, we still hafen’t found a solution to ze clozink problem!” Medic points out, still caught up in what they were discussing earlier. He then turns to Engineer, pasting on a smile to try and help his case, but it just makes him look demented. “Engineer, vould you so happen to have any spare clozink from your Kinder vith you? Jeremy has naught but ze clozes on his back as zey say, and neither me nor Heafy hafe anyzink to gife him.”

Jeremy huffs at that, offended by what Medic said regarding his clothes. “I’m wearin’ underwear  _ too, _ Dr. Medic. I’m not  _ dat  _ dumb!” He corrects, not understanding the phrase the doctor used.

Spy tuts, ruffling Jeremy’s hair. “Do  _ not  _ call yourself dumb. You are mon fils, so it is impossible for you to be anyzing but a genius.”

Engineer laughs, scratching the back of his head. “Come on now, don’t give the lil’ fella  _ too  _ big an ego… as fer ya question, Doc, I think I got a thing ‘r two, but not much. ‘Fraid most ‘a the hand-me-downs ‘r with the missus ‘n kids, ‘specially since some ‘a them are still growin’.”

_ “Nom de Dieu,” _ Spy thinks, wanting to curse out loud, but he won’t for Jeremy’s sake… not that it’ll do him much good; he knows how much the older boys swear, and it’s only a matter of time before the youngest of the family is just as foulmouthed as his brothers. “Well zen, if you shall all please excuse me, I will do what I can with what is available. Zank you for your concern, but we have been in worse circumstances before, and shall be just fine.” With that, Spy simply nods, carrying Jeremy back towards his bedroom.

Once they’re out of earshot of the other mercenaries, Jeremy gives his father a concerned look, eyebrows furrowed with worry. “Papa… Suis-je en difficulté?” He asks, needing to know; after all, he could have been lying to save his son the embarrassment of being in trouble in front of a bunch of strangers.

“Non, mon fils,” Spy promises, feeling safe enough to relax his shoulders now that he’s alone with his kid, and doesn’t have to put on an air of superiority. “I was scared when I saw zat you had run off, but I cannot fault you for trying to protect yourself when you believed you were in danger. I only ask zat you wait before trying to run next time; if you had truly been captured, someone would have told you after zey found out zat you were awake.”

“Oh,” Jeremy says, thinking on that for a few minutes. By the time Spy and him reach the bedroom, he finally regains the will to speak. “Um… I’m  _ really  _ sorry, Papa. I didn’t mean ta scare ya none, I jus’ wanted to be useful, ya know? I know it’s bad dat I’m here, ‘n dat I’m makin’ it worse, but-”

The boy is cut off by Spy nearly crushing him in a tight hug, the older man shushing his son quietly under his breath. “Shh, do not blame yourself, mon fils… it is  _ my  _ fault zat you are here; you only wanted to help me, and I cannot hold zat against you. You are still a child, and zere is much you must learn as you grow older… I only wish zat you were not learning somezing like zis in such a harsh fashion.”

“But it was stupid ta do!” Jeremy argues, not letting this go anytime soon. “If I weren’t so freakin’ dumb, then you wouldn’t-”

“-Jeremy Charles, what did I  _ just  _ say about calling yourself stupid? You stop degrading yourself right now, young man. Do you understand me?” Spy remains stern, waiting for Jeremy to nod hesitantly in agreement before he softens, proving that he doesn’t like scolding his son in the slightest. “I know, mon fils, I know… even when zings are out of your control, you feel like you need to fix everyzing and keep your loved ones safe, don’t you?” When Jeremy simply nods, the Frenchman let’s loose a short chuckle. “You’re far too much like ton père for your own good, Jeremy… unfortunately, self-blame is a family born trait. Come now, let’s get you dressed, alright? I know it’s hard right now, but I promise you, we  _ will  _ get zrough zis; togezer.”

Jeremy looks tempted to keep arguing, to keep insisting that this is all his fault, but in the end he nods, relaxing his shoulders in the same exact way that Spy did not ten minutes ago. This makes the older man want to laugh again, feeling as if his son is a mirror image of himself, but he holds his tongue. After all, he’ll need it if he has any chance at explaining this mess to his wife…

* * *

“My darling, zeir is somezing I must explain to you; all I ask is zat you listen, and I swear, if you never wish to see or speak to me ever again, I will not blame you. Will you please allow me to end your suffering, and tell you ze truth, my love?” When Spy is met with silence, he takes a deep breath, before continuing his explanation. “Ma petite fleur, it pains me to tell you zis, but our youngest son is with me. I did  _ not  _ kidnap him; on the contrary, it seems he accidentally kidnapped himself, as while we were sleeping, Jeremy snuck into my duffel bag on accident, planning to surprise me with a gift in ze morning, but he stayed asleep, and I did not realize he was with me until well after I left ze airport. Je suis tellement désolé, mon amour, I hate to zink of ze pain you must be going zrough, but please, whatever you do, do  _ not  _ blame yourself… if anyone is to blame, it is me. Now zat you have heard me out, what do you wish to do? I will not hate you if you decide to divorce me, but all I ask is zat if such a zing is to occur, may I please still have visitation with ze boys, so long as zey still wish to see me? I do not expect any of zem to see me as anyzing but a monster after today’s events, but please allow zem to decide for zemselves,” Finally, Spy pauses, stopping mid-stride to stare at the armchair in the library he’s taken shelter in. “So… how was zat? Too emotional? Too distant? I really can’t tell.”

Unfortunately for Spy, Captain Cat can’t talk, nor can the stuffed animal form an opinion on the Frenchman’s speech. “Hm… I definitely went a bit too fast; I need to remember to tell Becky zat I can’t just send Jeremy home to her wizout risking his life. I should mention zat  _ before  _ I beg for visitation rights… it will make me sound much less manipulative if she says no.”

Spy’s been pacing inside the library for about half an hour now, rehearsing over and over again what he plans on saying to Becky when he calls her, the practice reminding him of all the plays he acted in as a teenager. To Spy’s gratefulness, Engineer is babysitting his son for the next few hours, giving him time to get himself in order. Not for the first time, the mercenary wishes he had the power to pause time, if only so he could take as long as he wanted to rehearse his lines. The longer he puts this off though, the longer Becky and the boys are left in the dark; Spy can hardly imagine how they’re doing right now, especially since they can’t call the police for help to find Jeremy, as the Boston police have a bad history with not only the boys, but also Becky herself, as she was once quite the hooligan (Spy will never admit it, but he thinks that’s where most of the boys get their backwoods, rough ‘n tumble attitudes from). Either way, they all must be panicking like mad right now, and as much of a coward as Spy knows he is, he’s willing to fall on the sword and be hated by the people he loves if it means comforting them in their hour of need. With this thought in mind, the Frenchman strides to the phone that’s been installed on one of the library’s walls, typing in the familiar phone number with precision. As Spy is met with the telltale ring of his call going through on the other end, he leans against the wall, willing his body not to tremble with fear when he hasn’t even talked to his family yet.

Almost right away, the phone is picked up, suggesting that someone’s been waiting nearby in-case someone calls. “Hello? This is Grant Kennedy of the Kennedy household, can I ask who da heck is callin’? Is dis Paul? Paul, have ya found any signs ‘a Jerm yet?”

Spy almost considers hanging up, but in the end he doesn’t. “Grant, it’s Jeff,” He says, holding the phone a bit away from himself in-case the teenager starts screaming at him in a minute. “Is your mozer home?”

“Dad!?” Grant shouts, his voice full of more surprise than any sort of anger. Oh dear god, they haven’t even  _ considered  _ the idea that Jeremy’s with him, have they? “Oh thank god it’s you! Listen, Jeremy’s-”

“-I  _ know,” _ Spy cuts the teen off before he can keep rambling, both to save him some time, and to avoid hearing just how bad it’s been since they realized the kid was gone. “Again, is your mozer home, mon fils? Please let me talk to her.”

“Uh… yeah, she is,” Grant admits, but hesitation is beginning to fill his throat, making his voice sound weary and trepidant. “Dad, what’s goin’ on? How do ya know Jerm’s gone? Is… is he wid  _ you? _ Why’s he wid you, Dad?”

Spy hesitates, wanting to spare Grant the truth. After all, since he’s the oldest of the boys, he remembers all too well how terrifying it was to have a stepfather be revealed as a monster. Years ago, before Becky and him even met, she had been married to a kind soldier named Grant Grayson who had been her highschool sweetheart. Unfortunately, right after he had watched Becky give birth to the twins, he was shipped overseas, and died in combat within only a month of being deployed. During this entire time period, there was a man by the name of Terrance Walsh- a real hound of a man, chasing after skirts like it was a thing to do- who had been head over heels for Becky for some time, and instead of giving her space to grieve after her husband passed away, he wouldn’t leave her alone. Finally, if only to shut him up, Becky agreed to a date, and things evolved from there. Terrance was, admittedly, very good at deceiving others, and tricked those around him into thinking he was a good man, but behind closed doors, he was a goddamn  _ animal,  _ especially towards Becky and the kids. Everyone had hoped that he’d at least be kind to his biological children once they came, but he was bad to everyone; if anything, he was even harsher with his birth children, especially poor Patrick, who Terrance deemed as “too girly” early in life when the boy took an interest in hairdressing. By the time Curtis was born and only three weeks old, Becky had had enough.

Despite it being nearly a decade since it happened, Spy still remembers that day with perfect clarity. He had been frequenting a local diner for most of his meals at the time, on account of not wanting to constantly eat frozen dinners in a cheap hotel room, and while he wasn’t flaunting around the fact that he was a mercenary, word had gotten around that he was one. Becky had come into the diner that day with a few of the boys, and without invitation she’d sat across from the man in his booth. Spy had known the minute she walked in that she needed help, so he didn’t fuss, simply letting the mother and her kids get comfortable before asking what she wanted. Luckily for him, what Becky wanted was simple; her shithead of a husband dead, without her having to go to prison to make it happen, if only she could spare the kids from becoming orphans. She hadn’t had any money- a terrible side-effect of Terrance forcing her to be a stay at mother- but Spy still took the job, and not  _ just  _ because he didn’t have any work when he met her. Really, the reason he did was because Becky broke down right in front of him within only a few minutes of telling her story, and if that weren’t enough, young Grant, who was only nine years old at the time, had asked Spy, in no uncertain terms, to kill the man hurting his mama and little brothers. Of  _ course  _ he killed Terrance. It had led him to meeting and falling in love with Becky, and it freed her and the children of a real life monster.

Needless to say, Spy wants to kill himself at the thought of Grant believing that he’s in that same position again. He doesn’t deserve that; hell,  _ none  _ of kids do. If the Frenchman can get any point across during this phone call, he desperately hopes it’s the reassurance that he is not becoming another abuser in his family’s life.

Shaking the thought away, Spy forces himself to respond to Grant’s question, even if he’s scared that the answer will make the teenager hate him.  _ “Grant… _ mon fils, Jeremy snuck into my bag overnight, and when your mozer handed it to me zis morning, neizer of us realized zat your brozer was in zere. He’s alive and well, I promise you zat, but I need to tell your mozer what is happening so we can work zrough zis togezer, alright? I’m  _ so  _ sorry, son… please know zat I didn’t want zis to happen anymore zen you did; it was all an accident, and hopefully, it is an accident zat will not create anymore in ze coming monzs.”

It takes a few seconds for Grant to speak, but when he does, his voice is steady, a forced sort of calmness taking over in the face of tragedy. “I… I believe ya, Pa,” Grant eventually whispers, and to Spy’s relief, he can tell that the boy isn’t lying. “I dunno if da other guys’ll be as understandin’, but I believe ya ain’t da bad guy ‘ere… I’mma go get Ma, okay? Dat means I gotta leave da phone for a minute ‘r so. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Spy struggles to keep his composure, having been so prepared for screaming and cursing that he wasn’t ready to be forgiven. Swallowing the urge to sob, he nods, realizing almost right away that he needs to give Grant a verbal answer. “Yes, I understand… zank you, Grant. I’m so sorry zis is happening.”

“It’s alright, Pa… well, it ain’t, but we’ll get through dis shit, jus’ like we always do!” Grant promises, and just like that Spy can hear him set the phone down on a nearby table or counter, running to go find his mother.

Unfortunately, Spy isn’t given any time to relax, as the minute Grant’s footsteps fade away, someone else gets ahold of the phone. “Where’s Jeremy, ya piece ‘a  _ shit!?” _ A loud, shrill voice screams from the other end, and without a doubt, Spy recognizes the voice as Malcolm’s. “I swear, if you hurt ‘im, I’mma break every fuckin’ bone in ya body!”

“Good to hear from you, Malcolm. How is everyzing?” Spy asks, trying very hard to keep from sounding too irritated; he can’t count how many times he’s scolded Malcolm for screaming and/or swearing at people, but fuck it, it’s not like the boy is going to take him seriously if he tries to make him stop, seeing as he isn’t even in the same state as him.

“Don’t gimme dat shit!” Malcolm says, so angry that his voice is cracking; it would be endearing if Spy didn’t know what the kid is going through. “You betta tell me where my baby brother is, or I’mma tear ya apart!”

“Malcolm Drake, stop screamin’ at ya pa dis instant!” Becky orders from somewhere on Malcolm’s end, arriving just in time to catch her third to youngest son cussing out his stepfather.

“But he kidnapped Jeremy, Mama!” Malcolm insists, not understanding why his mom isn’t taking his side. “I heard ‘im tellin’ Grant dat he has Jerm, so he musta kidnapped ‘im!”

Becky sighs, and Spy can perfectly picture her giving Malcolm her usual _ ‘disappointed but not surprised’  _ head shake when he and the other boys get into trouble with her. “Goddammit… come on, Mal, lemme talk to ‘im. Mama will handle dis, aight? Go ‘n play wid ya brothers ‘r somethin’; I’ll tell everybody what’s happenin’ after I’m done,” As Malcolm reluctantly hands the phone over and stomps off, his mother adds in one last threat. “I swear Mal, if ya get inta anymore trouble while I’m talkin’ to Papa, yer ass is history!”

Once the noise has died down on Becky’s end, Spy gathers the courage to speak. “Rebecca? Are you zere?” He asks, low enough that he’s afraid he can’t be heard. It’s not often that he calls Becky by her full name, but when he does, it’s for a good reason.

“Yeah, I’m ‘ere, doll,” Becky assures, tone so much sweeter than her husband thinks he deserves it to be. “Grant told me ya found Jeremy, is dat right? I went back to bed after ya took off, ‘n when I woke up, no one could find Jeremy. Honestly, we was scared dat he ran away ‘til ya called; the boys have had all deir friends combin’ Boston lookin’ for ‘im.”

For some reason, that makes Spy smirk, despite how anxious he feels. As much as his adopted sons drive him insane some days, they’re all good kids at heart, even if they like tearing up the city more than studying in school or behaving in a polite manner. Either way, it makes their stepfather proud to know that they care so much about their family. Shaking his head, the Frenchman forces himself to respond. “Don’t worry, my darling, Jeremy is safe and sound with me… well, not  _ safe, _ but he  _ is  _ alive, and so long as I have a say in it, he’ll stay zat way.”

“Honey, what da hell  _ happened?” _ Becky asks, getting right down to business now that she has some more information to work with. “Did he sneak inta ya car ‘r somethin’? Where’re ya at right now? I’ll drive over as soon as I can ta get ‘im, hun.”

“Becky, you  _ can’t  _ drive here… I’m all ze way in New Mexico,” Spy says, praying to god that his wife won’t cut him off while he tries to catch her up to speed. “And no, notre fils did not hide in my car. He was actually sleeping in my duffel bag, zough he didn’t mean to come with me… he intended on giving me one of his stuffed toys, so zat it would keep me company, but he fretted over leaving it to supposedly  _ ‘sleep’  _ by itself in our closet, thus resulting in him sleeping with it in ze bag. According to Jeremy, he planned on waking up alongside us and saying goodbye to me in person, but unfortunately he slept zrough our morning togezer…” When he’s met with a long pause, Spy sighs, feeling himself beginning to clam up, afraid of how his wife will react. “Becky, I know you have no reason to trust me, but please believe me when I say zat I did not intend for zis to happen. I didn’t even know until we were already airborne, and by zen my employer wouldn’t let us turn around and take him home… nonezeless, I am so,  _ so  _ sorry, ma petite fleur.”

There’s a bit more silence, lasting long enough that Spy thinks he’s lost her, but before he can hang up and accept his fate, there’s an audible chuckle from the other end, and even when he’s about to cry, the sound still has butterflies fluttering in the Frenchman’s chest. “Oh, baby… ya sound like ya gonna cry over dere. Honey, did ya really think I wasn’t gonna believe ya? Dat I’d think ya took our lil’ boy? Jeff, I’ve known ya for nearly ten fuckin’ years, ‘n I ain’t ever met a betta man than you. After ya took care ‘a Terry, I thought I’d have to raise seven kids all by my lonesome, but when ya decided ta stick around ‘n stay with me ‘n the boys… honey, I was dead certain you was some kinda angel. You’re so good wid all our boys, even before we had Jerm ya were da best dad they ever had, ‘n I mean it! I love ya, Jeffery… please, don’t give yaself any shit for dis happenin’, alright?”

For the third- maybe  _ fourth? _ He’s lost count; today has been so fucking hectic- Spy is crying, but it’s only the second time he’s really losing his shit, so at least there’s that. Nonetheless, he’s bawling like a fucking toddler, holding the phone with one hand while the other is closed in a tight, shaking fist that wants nothing more than to beat himself to death for having and showing feelings. What in the name of god did Spy do to deserve such a loving, beautiful, smart, intelligent, understanding wife? By his estimates, he’s murdered well over three-hundred men and women throughout his thirty-three years of being alive, many of which probably didn’t deserve to die, but hell, Spy’s never asked many questions when on the job, so who knows if they were bad or not? It could be that he’s only ever murdered genuinely evil, scum of the earth monsters, and Becky and the kids are his reward from a higher power for being such a martyr. That, or Spy is irredeemable, and as punishment he’s been given the most perfect family, which he will inevitably lose, because if there’s one thing that is constant in Jeffery Kennedy’s life, it’s loss, and a lack of things staying the same. His father died when he was a baby, and at ten-years-old his mère couldn’t stand looking at him anymore, so she sent him off to live with his grande soeur Celeste, who in turn had a baby of her own, and sent him to a nice boarding school that he promptly got kicked out of for being far too clever and secretive for his own good. From there, he became a killer, because what else was there to do? Nothing much.

Spy never had much consistency growing up, so he made it by murdering people, which he eventually gave up to be a husband to Becky and a father to the children. In a way, he let her change him, and whether he likes it or not, that decision has forcefully changed his life yet again, even if it’s indirect. For the second time in his life, Spy wonders if he made the right choice in staying with her.

_ “Jeff? _ Jeff, honey, are ya still there?” Becky asks, growing worried when Spy doesn’t say anything for awhile. “Fuckin’ phone, always losin’ calls… do I gotta hang up ‘n wait for ya ta call me back, doll?”

Spy swallows, tears dripping like rainfall down his face, the man unable to calm the storm anytime soon. “N-No, I’m still here, Becky.” He manages, tempted to take out his butterfly knife and stab himself for stuttering, but he really shouldn’t be visiting Medic so early into meeting him… besides, he can’t risk Jeremy seeing him wounded.

“Good,” Becky murmurs, so warm and maternal, it simultaneously reminds Spy of why he loves her so much, and how not having a steady mother-figure probably fucked him up. “Jeff, I know ya beatin’ the shit outta yaself over there, but seriously, ya can’t blame yaself for shit goin’ wrong… can I ask ya a quick question, honey?”

“Of course, mon amour; anyzing for you.” Spy says, and he means it. If she asked him to overthrow all of France and rename it Beckyland, while he’d most certainly be shocked and somewhat appalled, he’d at least  _ try  _ to do it… and then promptly be hung for treason, but it’s the thought that counts.

“Let’s say I had to leave town ta go visit my sister ‘n her wife down in Florida, ‘n I couldn’t bring anybody wid me. Now, let’s say dat Curtis, bein’ a precious lil’ mama’s boy, didn’t care for that, ‘n got so mad dat he fell asleep in my duffel bag hopin’ I’d see ‘im ‘n decide not ta not go anymore. But then I don’t see ‘im, ‘n he sleeps through me wakin’ up, so I accidentally fly ‘im all the way down to Florida wid me. Does dat make me a bad mother, Jeff? Would you be screamin’ at me over da phone over somethin’ like that?” Becky doesn’t wait for an answer, continuing with her speech. “No, ya wouldn’t, ‘cus I didn’t fuckin’ know Curtis was in dere, ‘n ain’t nobody deserve to be screamed at over a mistake. So tell me, doll; why da fuck would I be pissed at ya over this? I admit, I’m scared shitless for my baby, but at least I know he’s wid his papa, right? I’m gonna be aight, love… we’ll all be.”

She has a point… and yet, Spy  _ still  _ wants her to scream at him, to make him suffer for all he’s putting them through. “But Florida is  _ not  _ a warzone!” He points out, internally wincing at how childish that sounds; he spends too much time around the kids, doesn’t he?

“You sayin’  _ Florida Man _ ain’t a  _ threat?” _ Becky asks, promptly laughing her ass off at her own joke. Thankfully for Spy, she’s quick to gather her composure. “Alright, ‘nough foolin’ around… yeah, our boy ‘n you are in fuckin’ hell right now- I ain’t takin’ that shit lightly, Jeff- but for Christ’s sake, beatin’ yaself up ain’t gonna keep either ‘a you any safer out dere. Hell, it’ll make things  _ worse, _ ‘specially if ya go ‘n get yaself killed, ‘n then how is Jeremy gonna get back home, huh? It would destroy him if ya died out there tryin’ ta keep ‘im safe, doll, ‘n you know it.”

After hearing that, Spy gives up on trying to start the argument he thought was inevitable; Becky is dead set on staying in love with him, and while he’ll never understand her for doing that, he respects her enough not to argue anymore. “Very well, ma petite chou-fleur… while I do not agree zat I am completely wizout blame, I will not pester you in an attempt to be verbally punished by you.”

Becky laughs again, her voice full of nostalgia. “Aw, Jeffery… ya such a fuckin’ weirdo, baby,” She mutters, and Spy can almost  _ see  _ the smile on her face, even though he’s across the country from her. “But goddamn, do I fuckin’ love ya… when ya get home, we oughta finally do dat big ass weddin’ we talked about doin’, show all ‘a Boston dat I’m the luckiest bitch alive.”

Spy rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but smile alongside his wife. “We are already legally married; I see no point in having such a large scale event, especially when we have so very little friends and family to invite.”

“Ya got ya work buddies, dontcha?” Becky asks, not taking no for an answer. It’s obvious to Spy that she isn’t actually serious about having a big wedding, but she’s trying to cheer him up, and he hasn’t the guts to tell her not to. “What about dat blonde bastard dat visited us a couple years back, what was ‘is name? Conner Cutler?”

“Oui, zat was his name, but we were in no way allies, much less friends,” Spy says, not the least bit surprised that Becky remembers that guy, seeing as he had a very memorable facial scar on his left cheek. “Ze bastard wanted me to go with him on a job when he visited, and when I told him no, he zreatened to kill you and ze boys… he’s dead now.”

“Obviously,” Becky says, aware of how Spy handles those sorts of people in his life. There’s a beat of silence, neither one of them sure how to talk about this… but they need to, even if it’s hard. “So… met any other mercs that are betta den Cutler was out there? They gettin’ along with Jerm, or are you keepin’ ‘im hidden for now? Poor kid won’t like dat.”

Spy shakes his head, before remembering that Becky isn’t here to see it. “Jeremy has met zem; don’t worry, I am not so foolish as to lock our most hyperactive child in a small room for hours on end,” He says, as if he didn’t do just that when he got here, but he’ll refrain from telling Becky that if he can help it; besides, it’s not like Jeremy isn’t going to brag about outrunning a bunch of full grown adults when he talks to her later. “As for meeting ozer mercenaries zat do not test my ire… zere are four ozer men here for ze job, and to my surprise, zey are all surprisingly…  _ empathique,” _ He says the word in French, because even though he’s ninety-nine percent certain he knows the word in English, he really doesn’t want to fuck up the pronounciation. “Zey were quite concerned when zey saw zat I had a child with me, and were about ready to lynch me before I managed to tell zem why ze child was here. Some of zem seem judgmental, and I cannot blame zem for being zat way, but zey are an agreeable sort nonezeless. Certainly ze most friendly group of mercenaries I’ve worked with in  _ many  _ years.”

“How nice!” Becky comments, as if she’s just heard that Spy has made some new friends at an office job. “At least dey ain’t complete child-hatin’ jackasses, right? ‘N here I was worried dat it was jus’ gonna be you keepin’ our lil’ boy safe… speakin’ ‘a which, can I talk to ‘im real quick? I think da boys’ll ease off ya if they actually hear from their lil’ brotha ‘n can prove he’s safe.”

“Of course, my darling,” Spy agrees, hoping that Becky will be right about that; he’d really rather  _ not  _ get beaten to death by at least six of his children when he gets home. “Zough, ze boy isn’t with me right at zis moment, as he is being watched by one of my coworkers while we have zis conversation. Is zere anyzing else we need to talk about, or are you alright with me hanging up and getting Jeremy for you?”

“I think we just about covered everythin’, even if I’m still scratchin’ my head ‘bout ya boss. Why da hell ain’t she willin’ ta bring our lil’ boy home? Can’t da bitch jus’ fly ‘im back over ‘ere ‘n call it a day?” Becky asks, still confused by that piece of information. “She’s workin’ for somebody higher up, ain’t she? Can’t imagine dat ‘er boss wants a kid involved in deir war.”

Spy shrugs, trying to feign indifference despite how angry he is with the Administrator and whoever else she’s working for. “According to her, it would be too dangerous to move him out of ze canyon, as ze enemy army would have ze opportunity to attack ze helicopter as it takes off, so we must keep him here until ze war is over… I’m  _ sorry, _ Becky.”

“How many times I gotta tell ya ta stop blamin’ yaself!?” Becky questions, but there’s no real anger in her voice.

Spy resists the urge to sigh, hating to disappoint his partner. “I’m not sure, my love…” He admits, tone somber. “I only wish I could ease your pain and return our son home safely to you.”

“I know ya do, baby,” Becky says, knowing all too well that Spy is just a very self-destructive person, and it’s hard for him to change that this late in his life, though she probably wishes he’d try harder at it. “I love ya so fuckin’ much, hun… you be safe out dere, alright? I’d really appreciate it if  _ both  _ ‘a my boys made it back home in one piece.”

“I will try my best,” Spy promises, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “I’ll call you again very soon so Jeremy may speak with you as well… Je t'aime plus que la vie elle-même, ma petite fleur.”

There’s laughter from the other side before Becky responds, her voice almost chipper now. “I know ya do, Jeffrey… I love ya too. Be safe.” With that, she hangs up, otherwise she knows the two of them will talk until the end of time.

For a few minutes, Spy stays standing there, the phone dorning in protest since he hasn’t hung it back up yet, too starstruck to move. He still feels like a fucking monster who’s dragged his offspring into a hell of another man’s making, but talking to Becky makes him feel at least a  _ little  _ better… at least she and Grant are in his corner still, right? The other boys will probably take longer to trust him again, but so long as he still has the chance to make things right, Spy will do anything to have his family back to the way it was, and that has to start with keeping his youngest safe until he can get him home again. At the thought of Jeremy, the Frenchman looks to Captain Cat, the stuffed animal flopped over in the armchair it’s been set on. Spy finally hangs up the phone, and with speed and precision, he strides over to the plushie, picking it up and looking it over in his hands. In all honesty, he’s always preferred dogs to cats, viewing canines as more loyal and affectionate… but he supposes cats are nice too, even if he’s never owned one. Well, he’ll probably own one by the time he gets home, if Arthur and Jacob still plan on adopting those stray kittens. Smiling at the thought of his stepsons, Spy sets Captain Cat back down on the armchair, making sure that the cat is sitting upright; can’t let him be uncomfortable. Afterwards, the mercenary glances around the room he’s in; it’s a very nice library, but according to Engineer, none of the mercs use it very much, since most of them are more focused on training for battle than reading books, even if they really want to.

It would be such a waste not to use this place… quietly, Spy leaves it be in search of his son, the thought of making the library his own little hideaway never quite leaving his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank god I finally finished this chapter! If all goes according to plan, the next chapter should be the last one for this fic, and like how FPEO ended, I plan on there being a slight time-skip for the last chapter, likely happening right after the RV trio shows up and from Jeremy’s POV. Until then, thank you for reading, and have an amazing day, y’all!


	6. As Close to Normal as We Can Get

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this is so freaking late, y’all; irl has been hell for my mental health, and I’m just kinda struggling to feel motivated. I hope to be better soon, but it’s an on-going battle, and I’m really sorry that you guys are being unintentionally punished by having to wait. Either way, it’s finally here, and I hope you’ll enjoy it!

Jeremy wakes up about a quarter past nine, sunshine beaming through the blinds of a nearby window being the trigger to finally rouse him. Even so, the boy is reluctant at first, not wanting to get out of bed just yet, but as his brain starts kicking itself into gear, he shoots up in bed without a second thought, grinning from ear to ear, and if was he a dog, his tail would be wagging like mad.  _ Today’s the day!  _ Jeremy scrambles to get out of bed, making a mess of the sheets and sending his stuffed animals flopping to the floor, but he pays them little mind, too busy trying to find some decent clothes to wear. The boy runs to his dresser, throwing open one of the bottom drawers and tossing clothes everywhere, all while kicking off his pajama pants, which he quickly replaces with a pair of black shorts. Next comes his shirt, Jeremy yanking off his nightshirt so fast, he nearly chokes himself on the buttons, but he manages to unbutton the top few so he can get it all the way off and toss it to the floor. He pulls on a plain red t-shirt, and although it’s big enough that it covers his shorts, the child can’t bring himself to care, too excited about playing with his best friend in a few hours. The Administrator  _ promised  _ that she’d be bringing Emily over today, and seeing as it’s been awhile since he last saw the girl, Jeremy is more than a little excited to play with her again. In fact, he’s so excited that once he deems himself dressed, he dashes for the door, jumping up to open it in an attempt to mimic a basketball player.

Unfortunately for Jeremy, his father opens it before he can reach the handle, the boy just barely stopping himself from jumping onto Spy. “Whoa!” He shouts, stopping to stare up at the Frenchman in surprise, before a smile forms on his face. “Mornin’, Papa!” He says, hopping from foot to foot with his excitement. “Ya know what day it is?”

“June tenth, nineteen-sixty four,” Spy answers without missing a beat, simply raising an eyebrow at his young son. “But to be less specific, it’s a Monday.”

“Yeah, ‘n  _ Emily’s  _ comin’ over today!” Jeremy explains, bouncing up and down to accentuate how important this is.

“Zat she is… zough, I doubt she would like to see your bedroom in such a state of disarray,” Spy says, looking past his son at the huge mess that is his room, obviously fighting to keep from visibly wincing. “Please clean your room, mon fils.”

“Awwww, do I  _ gotta?” _ Jeremy all but whines, giving his father the saddest pout he can muster.

“Oui,” Spy confirms, undeterred by his son’s fussing. “And when you are done, I want to double-check it. We don’t need ze Administrator giving eizer of us any grief, no? You know how judgemental she can be.”

Jeremy huffs, tempted to argue, but he  _ really  _ doesn’t want to get in trouble, not only because it’s too early to deal with such drama, but also because he doesn’t want Spy to send Emily home before he even gets to see her. “Oui, monsieur…” He eventually murmurs, turning away and crossing his arms in frustration.

Much to the boy’s chagrin, he can hear his father bite back a chuckle. “Yes, I must be  _ such  _ a monster for making you clean your garbage dump of a bedroom,” Spy says, shaking his head at the child’s dramatic reaction. “Your mozer may be right, mon fils… you are far too much like ton père for your own good.”

Jeremy perks up at that, swinging back around to give his father a hopeful look. “Really?” He asks, eyes wide and full of no small amount of hope. After all, there’s nothing he wants more than to be just like his dad!

“Unfortunately yes,” Spy admits, though he doesn’t seem too excited about it; not that Jeremy really notices that part. “You are just as stubborn and dramatic as ton père, and frankly, we will all be lucky if you don’t get into as much trouble as I did in my youth.”

Jeremy grins outright, uplifted by his father’s admission. “Wow… dat’s  _ awesome!” _ He cheers, hopping up and down again. “I’m gonna be super cool like  _ you  _ someday!”

Spy winces, but again, his son doesn’t catch it. “Yes, well…” He trails off, not having the heart to stomp Jeremy’s dream into dust so soon. In an attempt to move the conversation along, he switches topics. “Ze ozer mercenaries and I have a few missions today starting at noon, so I will not be able to spend very much time with you until after ze matches are over. But no need to fret, Miss Pauling and her mozer will be arriving shortly before zen, so I would suggest cleaning quickly so we can at least have breakfast togezer, no?”

“I gotta clean up  _ fast? _ Gotcha!” Jeremy yells, and just like that he’s running to his dresser and haphazardly shoving his clothes back inside, not even trying to fold them or figure out what’s clean and what’s dirty.

“I did not mean it like zat…” Spy mutters, but he ultimately shakes his head in defeat, as he knows that if he tried making Jeremy do it correctly, it would take forever, and he’d rather not verbally wrestle with a seven-year-old before work.  _ “So long as it’s out of ze Administrator’s sight, I suppose I can’t complain…” _ He thinks, secretly glad that his son is at least hiding everything well.

Within only five minutes, Jeremy has his bed poorly made, and all of his toys and clothes either shoved under the bed or stuffed into his dresser. From the outside looking in, his room looks fairly neat and orderly, but Spy knows that the moment that his son is left unattended in here, it’ll be a shitstorm once more. “How’s dis, Papa?” Jeremy asks, giving Spy such a sweet smile, it’s hard to remember that the child wearing it is so often responsible for nothing but chaos.

“It looks nice,” Spy lies, not having the heart to tell Jeremy the truth. He offers his right hand to him, smiling a little when his son eagerly takes to holding it, following him out of the room and towards the kitchen. “So, what would you like for breakfast today? Zere’s eggs, toast, bacon, leftovers from last night’s dinner, and of course cereal.”

“Hm…” Jeremy thinks on it, scratching his chin in deep thought with his free hand. “I think cereal’d be good today!” He decides, practically skipping down the hallway. “Can I have Froot Loops please?”

“Good manners. And yes, you may have some if we have any left.” Spy agrees, smiling at Jeremy with pride.

The trip to the kitchen is rather uneventful, the father and son duo hardly running into anyone on the way there, but to be fair, most of the other mercenaries are getting ready for the match today, while the kids are god knows where. Stepping into the kitchen with his dad, Jeremy’s eyes immediately land on Bonito, the oldest child in the base looking half asleep at the table, struggling to stay awake as they lazily eat a bowl of cereal… with orange juice instead of milk.  _ Gross. _ John is for some reason sitting under the table, eating what looks like a protein bar with the same table manners as a wild animal. After a few bites, the young soldier reaches a hand onto the table overhead, smacking it around in search of something unknown; all the while, he keeps knocking things to the floor, though he doesn’t seem to care. Not even blinking, Bonnie pauses their chewing to push an unopened juice box towards John’s erratically moving hand. The moment his fingers brush against the box, the boy snatches it with all the violence of an orangutan, pulling it under the table to be viciously torn open and sucked dry. Turning his attention away from the feral youth, Jeremy looks towards the stove and counters lining the left wall, where he sees Mundy sitting on one of the empty counters, the preteen reading a magazine while he surveys the room, a half empty coke can sitting beside him. Glancing up from his magazine, Mundy notices the duo in the doorway, who he smiles and waves at.

“Mornin’,” Mundy greets, his smile widening when he sees Jeremy. “‘Bout time ya woke up, ankle biter. How’d ya sleep? Hope it was betta than me.”

“I don’t ‘member what I was dreamin’ ‘bout, so I guess it was pretty good,” Jeremy says, shrugging off Mundy’s question as everyday chatter, undeterred by the fact that the older boy doesn’t sleep very well. “So… what’s Johnny doin’?”

Before Mundy can answer, John’s head pokes out from under the tablecloth, the child grinning at Jeremy with a shark’s smile. “I am training for when I inevitably am thrown into enemy territory and forced to live on nothing but scraps!” He explains, as if this is just something that happens to children. “Speaking of which, if you see or hear me again, I encourage you to maim me so that I will learn from my mistakes, which are few and far between!”

“…Charming,” Spy manages, giving John such a baffled look, as if the boy in front of him has grown a second head. “Please do not attack mon fils when he sits at ze table for breakfast.”

“What is a mon fee? A monkey? I did not know you owned an ape, General Spy,” John says, confused by what the Frenchman said. “And I can make no such promises; if you step anywhere near my base of operations, I am morally obligated to rip you limb from limb, starting with your feet.”

“Yeah, dat’s kinda why I’m eatin’ over ‘ere roight now,” Mundy admits, not nearly as bothered by John’s behavior as Spy is. “Only reason Bon’s sittin’ at da table is ‘cus Johnny knows Bon can ‘n will rip ‘im a new one if he fucks wid ‘em.”

“This is true,” John has no shame admitting this, not the least bit embarrassed that Bonito intimidates him. “Private Bonito will indeed beat be red, white, and blue if I bother them, and while I would like to resemble America and her ideals as much as possible, I do not have time to be bedridden from injuries that were not caused by a training accident.”

Spy blinks, looking between the trio of children with such horror, it’s a miracle he hasn’t retired early after dealing with this shit on a daily basis. “Change of plans; we’re eating in Papa’s smoking room now.” He says, picking his son up and carrying him to the cupboard he knows the cereal is in.

“Can’t say I blame ya any,” Mundy says, scooting over so Spy can get at the cabinet he was previously leaning against. “Jus’ hope ya won’t be smokin’ none until ya boy’s outta dere… ain’t good for ‘is lungs.”

“Zere’s no need to be concerned; I  _ never  _ smoke around mon fils.” Spy promises, secretly a bit hurt that Mundy would even suggest something like that.

“It’s true!” Jeremy adds, wanting to help Spy prove his point. “Da doctor back home said nobody can smoke ‘round me any ‘cus I got ask-ma!”

“It’s pronounced  _ aszma, _ Jeremy,” Spy points out, also pronouncing it wrong, but none of the kids are willing to call him out on it. Trying to make sure he can actually have breakfast with his son before work, the mercenary quickly digs through the cupboard behind Mundy, scowling when he sees how few options he and Jeremy have.  _ “Curses… _ my apologies, mon fils, but it seems ze only cereals we have are Wheaties, Cheerios, and… whatever ze  _ hell  _ zis pirate one is.”

Jeremy giggles at his father’s confusion. “Dat’s Captain Crunch, Papa,” He explains, wanting to make grabby hands for it, but he knows that Spy wouldn’t approve of such a thing. “Can I have that one?  _ Please? _ The twins say dat’s ‘posed to be  _ really  _ good!”

Bonito gives a short string of mumbles that sound like an agreement, so Spy is more than a bit inclined to accept this as fact, at least among the children. “Very well,” He agrees, handing Jeremy the box of cereal while he gets out a bowl and spoon from one of the counter’s other compartments. “Come along, let’s get Papa’s coffee and we’ll go have breakfast.”

Jeremy nods in agreement, hugging the cereal box as he follows after Spy, watching the man gather breakfast supplies in the same manner that international assassins scope their surroundings for traps and the like. He knows he says it pretty damn often, but Jeremy can’t help but constantly be enamored by his father’s many skills, finding everything he does to be amazing and worthy of praise and admiration. Honestly, no  _ wonder  _ he works for the Administrator; he’s the toughest, smartest, and greatest person on earth, other than Ma of course! Once he has everything he’ll need, Spy waves goodbye to Mundy and shuffles out of the room, Jeremy right on his heels as the duo heads for the smoking room next. According to Papa, it’s actually the team’s library, but since there isn’t a lot of time outside of matches, meals, and sleeping for reading books, he’s more or less claimed it as his own personal hideaway, which doesn’t surprise his son in the slightest. Of  _ course  _ Spy deserves an extra room to himself; he’s the _ best, _ after all! When they reach the smoking room, Jeremy rushes forward and opens the door for his dad, holding it in place so the man can walk inside without dropping anything. This earns the boy a small smile and nod as Spy steps inside, walking over to a small table that’s been set up in a far corner of the room, which he usually has Jeremy sit and draw/read at when he wants to keep an eye on him.

After setting everything down, Spy beckons his son over, pulling out the tiny, child sized chair at the table for him. “Go ahead and get started, Jeremy. I’ll be just a moment.” He says, helping Jeremy pour his milk before he walks away to get something.

Jeremy watches him go for all of a few seconds, before promptly digging into his cereal like a rabid animal, wanting to imitate what John was doing earlier in an attempt to seem just as cool. Spy clicks his tongue, and although he can’t even  _ see  _ his father’s reaction, it’s still enough to stop the child from making any more of a mess. Slower now, Jeremy keeps eating his cereal, glancing over his shoulder again after a few bites to check on his dad. Spy is on his way back now, struggling somewhat to half-drag half-carry his armchair over to the table so he can sit with his son. The Frenchman looks like he’s about to start panting like a dog once he reaches the table again, but he keeps his composure, sitting gracefully in his chair as he begins sipping at his coffee and skipping the morning paper. It’s only now that Jeremy realizes that Spy has neglected his health by not bringing anything to eat for himself, so after he finishes chowing down his cereal and draining the leftover milk, he pushes the bowl towards the older man. At first, Spy mistakes his son for still being hungry, so wordlessly he pours him some more cereal and milk, but to his surprise, Jeremy refuses to eat it, just continuing to grin up at him. With a sigh, the mercenary catches on, and not wanting to upset his offspring by not eating anything, he resigns himself to eating commoner's cereal. Jeremy’s smile grows at the sight, the youth hardly able to keep from bouncing in his seat.

“Ya like it, Papa? It’s  _ super  _ good, ain’t it? Nice ‘n filling.” Jeremy tries to encourage Spy in the same way that his parents have done for him over the years, as he’s struggled a lot with eating full meals since he was a newborn baby.

Spy grimaces around the cereal in his mouth, not nearly as enthused as his son. “It’s… very  _ sweet.” _ He manages, wincing at the overwhelming taste of artificial fruit flavoring.

Jeremy giggles, but still gives his dad a sympathetic smile. “It’s okay; Timmy doesn't really like super sweet stuff, either,” He says, before his smile drops, and just like that he’s staring at the tabletop in shame, eyes glistening with grief. “…I’m sorry, Papa,” He whispers, voice small and defeated. “I don’t wanna make ya sad by talkin’ ‘bout everybody.”

Spy stops eating altogether and reaches over the table, effortlessly picking his son up and sitting him down on his lap instead. “You have  _ nozing  _ to apologize for, mon fils… life is very hard and sad right now, and we are all warranted our time to be upset. You didn’t ask for zis, and even if you had, you could never have understood what you were truly asking for. Don’t worry, Jeremy; we’ll get zrough zis, I swear we will.”

“Thanks, Papa,” Jeremy murmurs, leaning his head against Spy’s chest and closing his eyes, comforted by the familiar sound of his father’s heartbeat, the rhythmic pulse lulling him into a state of calmness. “I’m still really sorry dough.”

“I know,” Spy says, sympathetic to the child’s plight. “But it will be al-”

Before he can finish, the phone in the library starts ringing, causing the two men to jump in surprise. After getting over his initial shock, Jeremy sits up on his knees on Spy’s lap, looking over his shoulder and giving the phone a hopeful grin. “Do ya think dat’s Ma?” He asks, wanting nothing more than to hear from her again.

“Perhaps,” Spy says, deciding to be on the safe side and not promise anything. Gently, he sets Jeremy down on the floor before walking over and picking up the phone to answer it, careful not to say who he is right away. “May I ask who is calling? …Hello, ma petite fleur.”

“It  _ is  _ Ma!” Jeremy shouts, running over and hugging Spy’s legs, tempted to climb him in order to reach the phone. “Can ya tell her I said hi?”

“Easy, mon fils… oui Becky, zat’s just Jeremy; he’s very excited to hear from you again. Do you wish to speak with him?” Spy asks, and after some mumbling from the other end, he smirks and holds the phone out for his son to take. “Here you are. Remember, do not pace or pull on ze line, understand?”

“Yes, Papa,” Jeremy says, internally wincing, as the last time Ma called, he damn near yanked the phone out of the wall from all of his excitement. Once he has the phone and Spy has stepped away to give him some privacy, the boy grins, holding the phone up to his ear. “Hi, Mama!” He greets, happy already at the thought of being able to talk to his mom again. “How’re ya doin’?”

“I’m doin’ pretty good over ‘ere, sweetpea,” Ma assures, sounding just as gleeful as her youngest son to be talking to him again. “Da other boys have been missin’ ya so much over ‘ere, we jus’ had ta call ‘n see how you ‘n Papa were!”

Jeremy smiles, and again, if he were a dog his tail would be wagging. “Awesome! I’m doin’ really good, Ma; my best friend is comin’ over today!”

“Ya mean Emily Paulin’, dat nice gal you was tellin’ me about da other day?” Ma asks, continuing after Jeremy gives her a pleased hum of confirmation. “Dat’s nice, kiddo! She sounds like such a nice girl, I really hope ‘er ma let’s me meet ‘er when ya get home.”

Jeremy deflates a bit at that, as even a passing mention of the Administrator makes his stomach twist in uncomfortable knots, not to mention how homesick he is. “Her mama’s  _ really  _ mean, dough,” He warns, feeling the need to prepare his mother in case she meets the woman with no prior knowledge of her awful behavior. “She’s super rude ta me ‘n Papa, ‘n she don’t even apologize for it none!”

Ma chuckles, much to Jeremy’s befuddlement. “Yeah, she’s a real bi- I mean,  _ bossy person,” _ She says, barely catching herself before she can curse in front of her child. “But dontcha worry none, ya mama ain’t scared ‘a her!”

Jeremy laughs, imagining his mom flexing to prove just how strong she is. “Yeah, ‘cus ya so freakin’ tough, Ma!” He agrees, as he views his mother as the second strongest person on earth, Spy just barely surpassing her. “I betcha you’d scare ‘er real bad!”

Ma laughs again, amused by her son’s confidence in her. “I ‘preciate dat, sweetie,” She says, trailing off a bit at the end, as if something has distracted her. “Say, ya wanna talk ta ya brothers ‘fore dis freakin’ phone starts losin’ it on me? Ya know how crappy it can be sometimes.”

“Yeah, I wanna talk to ‘em!” Jeremy all but shouts, trying desperately to keep from deafening his mother, but it’s hard when he’s so excited!

“Alright alright, hold ya horses, junior,” Ma says, the smile in her voice clear as crystal. “Aight, ya lil’ shits, who wants ta talk ta their lil’ brother first!?” She shouts on the other end of the call, holding the phone away from herself a bit so she won’t hurt Jeremy’s ears.

What sounds like a stampede roars from the other end, and within seconds Jeremy can hear his brothers fighting over who gets the phone first. “Ey, me first, ya jerkwads!” Timmy yells to try and get his way, but his youngest brother doubts he’ll win, as he’s not nearly as rowdy as the other boys of the family.

“Seniority! _ Seniority!”  _ Grant keeps screaming from pretty far in the background, not having the heart to physically push his brothers out of his way.

“I’ve got it!” It sounds like Malcolm won. There’s a bit more squabbling, but some muffled shouting from Ma ends the fight, and just like that Jeremy gets to finally talk to one of his brothers. “Heya, Jerm,” Malcolm greets, sounding out of breath, but he recovers in no time flat. “How ya doin’? You kickin’ any bad guy butt over there?”

Jeremy laughs outright. “No  _ way,  _ ya know Papa won’t lemme fight none, even if I would be really good at it!” He says, but he’s nonetheless happy that Malcolm assumes he gets to fight as much as he wants. “At least not da enemy guys… I can wrestle all I want wid Johnny ‘n Mundy, but they’re really hard ta beat, ‘specially Mundy ‘cus he’s so much taller dan me!”

Malcolm nods along with Jeremy’s explanation, not that the younger child can see it on his end. “Yeah, big kids ‘re the  _ worst…  _ I miss ya like  _ crazy, _ dude. Now da only one who I can wrestle ‘n win against is Curtis, ‘n ya know what a lil’ crybaby he is; it ain’t even fun anymore!”

“Hey!” Curtis shouts, and Jeremy can hear him throw something at his brother, as Malcolm gives a loud yelp of pain. “I am  _ not  _ a crybaby; you’re jus’ a bully!”

“Well  _ you’re  _ jus’ a lil’ sissy boy who can’t handle a joke!” Malcolm goes for teasing Curtis now, if only so he can look cooler in front of his youngest brother. “Whatcha gonna do ‘bout it, huh? Gonna run ‘n cry ta Mommy so ya can prove me right?”

“Mama!” Much to Malcolm’s horror, Curtis does just that, jumping up and running to get his mother. “Mama Mama, Malcolm’s  _ bullyin’  _ me again!”

“I am _ not!”  _ Malcolm screams, abandoning the phone in favor of running after Curtis to try and stop him. “Don’t listen to ‘im, Ma, he’s  _ lyin’!” _

After Malcolm and Curtis have taken off, someone else retrieves the phone. “Jesus, Mal’s definitely gonna get it if Curt squeals on ‘im… shouldn’t ‘a teased the tattletail,” Jacob says with all the wisdom a trouble-making fourteen year old can possess. “Hey, Jerm; it’s me ‘n my worse half. How is it on yer end, huh?”

“Jerk,” Arthur growls, audibly smacking Jacob for the trouble. “If anybody ‘ere if the bad twin, it’s  _ you!” _

“Oh  _ please, _ I’m a freakin’  _ angel,” _ Jacob lies, if only to work Arthur up and start a fight; Jacob knows he’s a troublemaker at heart, but there’s nothing he loves more than pissing his twin brother off. “Also, piss da hell off, I’m talkin’ ta Jerm right now.”

“So am I, genius!” Arthur snaps, hitting Jacob again, a bit harder this time.

Before the twins can really start to scuffle, Jeremy tries to break up the fight. “Uh, I’m doin’ pretty good,” He says, hoping that if he talks it’ll keep the twins from killing each other. “Emily’s comin’ over today, so we’re gonna hang out ‘n prolly do somethin’ fun together. What about you guys? You doin’ anythin’ fun? How is it over dere?”

Thankfully his questions are enough to stop the fight, Arthur eager to tell Jeremy some good news. “Ma let us get dem cats after all, even dough she keeps sayin’ Pa is in trouble for makin’ promises behind ‘er back!” Arthur explains, giddy with excitement. “We got two of ‘em, ‘n we named ‘em London ‘n Paris!”

Jeremy’s eyes widen with wonder. “Wow, those ‘re some  _ awesome  _ freakin’ names! What colors are dey?”

“Both ‘re orange ‘n white,” Jacob says, cutting in before Arthur can keep going and hogging all the attention. “Mine’s way cooler dough ‘cus I taught ‘er ta do flips ‘n shit!”

“Ey, no cussin’ atcha baby brotha!” Ma shouts from the next room over, causing all three boys on the phone to jolt in surprise.

Arthur chuckles quietly at this, reveling in Jacob’s misfortune. “Nice goin’, sailor mouth.” He teases, his smirk damn near audible. Although Jeremy will never say it, as he knows it would be a one-way trip to Pain City, the twins are more alike than they’ll ever admit, in that they can rarely resist messing with each other.

“Shut it,” Jacob warns, snapping Jeremy out of his thoughts as he jabs Arthur with one of his elbows. “Ey Jerm, we oughta let ya go so ya can talk ta Pat, Timmy, ‘n Grant next, since Pat looks jus’ ‘bout ready ta cry.”

“I’m not gonna cry!” Patrick argues from somewhere in the background, but he doesn’t sound all that confident.

“See? ‘Sides, me ‘n this knucklehead have said pretty much everythin’ worth mentionin’, except dat Grant’s ex-girl stole our mailbox ‘n Timmy’s bike, but don’t worry none, we’ll get ‘em back ‘n make ‘er pay for fuckin’ with us!” Jacob explains, seemingly undeterred by what most people would think is very concerning news.

“Jacob!” Ma shouts again, much angrier this time.

Amazingly enough, Jacob doesn’t take it lying down, deciding to defend himself instead. “Why ya givin’ me shit for cussin’ when ya called us lil’ shits not ten fuckin’ minutes ago, huh? I learned from da best!”

“Oh dear  _ god,” _ Arthur mumbles, horrified by Jacob’s lack of restraint. “Yeah, ya better off talkin’ da the other guys, junior… dis ain’t gonna be pretty.”

There’s audible arguing in the background, but luckily for Jeremy, his last three brothers do their best to keep him from hearing too much of it. “What’s up, squirt?” Grant asks, voice full of joy when talking to the youngest child of the family. “I heard dat your friend is comin’ by, is dat right? That’s freakin’  _ great _ , dude! It’s awesome that ya got some friends out dere, ya know?”

“It’ll be fun, I guess,” Jeremy agrees, trailing off since he’s repeated this several times now. “Are you guys okay over dere? Ma ‘n everybody ‘r fightin’ a  _ lot  _ more dan usual. I mean, I know the twins ‘re oil ‘n matches, but even  _ dey  _ don’t usually get pissed  _ dis  _ freakin’ fast!”

“Uh… yeah, it’s been rough widout ya here, junior,” Timmy admits, wanting to help Grant deliver the bad news as well as he can. “Mom’s been really stressed wid you ‘n Dad gone, but we’ll be okay! We’re gettin’ through it.”

“Oh…” Jeremy says, feeling tears building up in his eyes. “Is it really  _ dat  _ bad?”

“Well, Malcolm won’t stop startin’ stuff, Curtis is bein’ even whinier dan usual, ‘n the twins ‘r ‘bout ready to kill each otha,” Patrick confesses, wanting his youngest brother to know the truth instead of trying to hide this from him. “It ain’t ya fault though, Jeremy… ya know we’re jus’ a wild family, always have been.”

Jeremy nods in agreement, but he can’t dispel his worries so easily. “It was better when me ‘n Pa were around, dough… I really  _ did  _ make everythin’ worse, didn’t I?”

“It  _ ain’t  _ ya fault, Jeremy,” Timmy repeats, tone full of concern for his baby brother. “It’s always been hard for us when Dad leaves, ‘n yeah, we miss ya like crazy, but at least ya with your papa, right? We’ll manage jus’ fine on our own, buddy.”

“I guess so… can we talk ‘bout somethin’ else now? Please?” Jeremy practically begs, needing to move on from this.

“Yeah, we can tota-” Before Grant can finish, there’s shouting in the background, causing Jeremy to flinch in surprise. “Aw  _ fuck…  _ sorry Jerm, we gotta go; Michelle ‘n her crew jus’ got spotted down the street, ‘n we’ve got a score ta settle. You be good for Dad, alright? Be safe out dere.” With that, he hangs up.

Jeremy just stands there blank faced for a few minutes, long enough that the phone goes dead, and there’s a loud drone coming out of the receiver, but despite how much he despises the sound that threatens to deafen him, the boy doesn’t have the will to hang up. He’s never heard his family in such disarray before… well, that’s not  _ completely  _ true; his brothers fight like dogs and run just as wild as a pack of them, but Spy  _ always  _ helps them stay out of too much trouble when he’s home with them. Ma helps out as well, of course, but her husband is just a bit better equipped with their children’s brand of vandalism, as while both sides of the couple have spent their fair share in and out of trouble with the police, Spy has a much better record of getting out of it, something that Ma was never quite as talented at. After only a few moments of Jeremy standing by the phone, Spy notices the look on his son’s face, and with one of concern forming beneath his mask, he starts striding towards the boy. Jeremy quickly hangs up the phone when he sees his dad coming towards him, and without so much as a goodbye, he shuffles for the door of the library, not wanting his father to know just how much of a toll their combined absence has taken on the family. That only makes Spy more worried, but as he reaches forward to grab Jeremy’s arm and stop him from running off, a loud, ear-splitting siren goes off, causing both men to flinch in surprise, the younger of the two covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut to try and muffle out the awful sound.

“Mission begins in thirty minutes; all personnel to the locker room immediately!” The Administrator’s familiar voice calls out over the loudspeaker. Although it seemed intent on roaring like mad just a few moments ago, the siren suddenly dies without warning after the announcement is made, the whole base left in an uncomfortable silence afterwards.

“…Nom de Dieu,” Spy mutters, frustrated as he glares at one of the nearby speaker boxes in his smoking room. “I have to go now, Jeremy… is everyzing alright? You look quite upset after zat call, mon fils.”

“I’m okay, Papa,” Jeremy lies, faking an enthusiastic grin for his father. “Jacob jus’ teased me, dat’s all! Have fun beatin’ up dem blue guys, okay?”

Spy scowls, not the least bit fooled by his own child’s attempt at deception. Unfortunately though, he’s on a tight schedule. Defeated, the man sighs, shaking his head at Jeremy’s refusal to confide in him. “Very well… after ze battle, please come and see me, won’t you? It’s unhealzy to keep secrets from me, mon fils,” He strides to the door, only stopping to crouch down and kiss his son’s forehead. “Sois bon pendant mon absence.”

“Je le ferai, Papa,” Jeremy whispers, giving his dad a quick hug before backing off a few steps, giving the man room to leave. “Bonne chance!”

Spy just smiles and nods, leaving the smoking room in a hurry to join the other mercenaries heading for the locker room upstairs. Once his father has left, Jeremy let’s out a long, depressed sigh, his chest aching with unwelcome pain. He hates to make his father worry about him, especially when he already has so much work on his plate with the upcoming battle, but he just can’t help feeling sad; not when it involves his family, anyhow. Sulkily, Jeremy makes sure to leave the smoking room after he’s certain that all of Spy’s coworkers are long gone, at which point he tiptoes out of the library and locks it behind him, if only because his dad does the same thing every day. For a minute, Jeremy considers tracking down Emily so he can forget about his worries and just play, but his heart isn’t in it anymore, this newfound heartache making him want to crawl back into bed and sleep until he wakes up at home with his whole family there to greet and love him. In the end, Jeremy decides to head down the hall to the main living room, seeing as upstairs is off-limits during battles since that’s the floor that connects onto the battlefield between the RED and BLU bases. Halfway down the hall, Bonito exits a bathroom along the way, only pausing to stare because they can see how upset the youngest child on-base is. Mustering a smile, Jeremy waves to the teen, but that must not be all that convincing, as Bonnie quickly comes and crouches in front of the little boy to get at eye-level with him.

“Hiya, Bonnie,” Jeremy greets, eyes downcast as he refuses to make eye-contact with Bonito, not wanting them to see him cry. “So… did ya have a good piss?” He asks, internally kicking himself for asking such a dumb question, but his brain is too busy feeling like gray mush to get anything better out.

Bonito laughs, their shoulders shaking with the force of it. “Mhm,” They mumble, giving Jeremy such a genuine smile, it draws a tiny one out of the kid in no time flat. “Wa womm?”

Jeremy shrugs, barely able to make out the older child’s question from their mumbling. “I dunno… jus’ kinda sad, I guess,” He admits, biting his lip as he wonders whether or not he should talk to Bonito about this… but they’re pretty nice to him, so they can probably help him out, right? He sure hopes so. “My Ma ‘n brothers ain’t doin’ so good… dey keep gettin’ inta fights wid the neighbor kids ‘n each other. I know dey all fight a bunch, but it never seemed as bad as it is now, ‘n I… I think it’s my fault, ‘cus Papa’s stuck ‘ere takin’ care ‘a me durin’ the war, ‘n he can’t be home ta make everythin’ better like he always does. ‘N even if it ain’t my fault, I know Ma misses me, ‘n I worry dat she might hate Papa when dis is all over wid.”

Bonnie nods along to the boy’s story, not once laughing at or degrading him, as they know all too well what such an overwhelming amount of guilt feels like, especially when it’s left to be carried on too-young shoulders. Not having the words to express themselves at the moment, Bonito simply reaches forward and pulls Jeremy into a big hug, having always preferred touching over talking. That’s just enough to break the dam, and all at once, Jeremy begins to cry into the teenager’s sweater, the weight of it all hitting him like a bag of bricks, destroying his will to keep soldering on and tolerating this awful situation. Bonnie is undeterred by the loud sobbing, softly hushing the boy under their breath as they fluctuate between rubbing circles into his back and patting his head like he’s a house cat. After awhile of this, the hallway grows to be far too claustrophobic, something both children seem to realize at the same time. Without a word- which isn’t all that surprising, considering who’s the least upset at the moment- Bonnie scoops Jeremy up and carries him towards the living room, the younger of the pair doing nothing to object or argue, too busy crying still to care where he’s going, so long as it’s somewhere safe and comforting. They reach the living room in good time, causing what sounded like idle chatter to stop dead in it’s tracks, two pairs of eyes now fixed onto Bonnie and Jeremy. Not even realizing he’s doing it, Jeremy clings to the teen a bit harder, scared of being teased or mocked for having a breakdown.

“Whoa… what’s goin’ on with ‘im, mate?” Mundy asks, walking over and laying a hand on Jeremy’s back. Luckily the boy doesn’t flinch away, having never been beaten like some of the other kids on-base have been. “He’s lookin’ pretty rough. He get inta a biffo with ‘is dad?”

Bonito shakes their head, before walking over to the couch to sit down, adjusting Jeremy to sit on his lap. The boy averts his eyes all the while, ignoring the fact that John and Mundy are staring at him with worried looks, which Bonito is quick to dispel, the oldest child shooing their “younger brothers” away so that they and their charge can get some much needed space. Jeremy bites back a smile, relieved that Bonnie is doing so much to make him feel better; he’ll have to do something to make this up to them later, like draw them a really good picture of their Balloonicorn! Speaking of the delightfully fat plushie, once they’re settled on the sofa, Bonnie reaches down to the foot, finding their beloved Balloonicorn resting there. After picking it up, they offer it to Jeremy, but despite his disheveled state, he doesn’t feel the need to take the older child’s comfort item from them, even if it’s only for a few minutes. When the boy just shakes his head, Bonnie shrugs, content with hugging the Balloonicorn with their free arm, the other still wrapped securely around Jeremy’s torso. The duo stays that way for awhile, not really watching the TV even though it’s on, and during this time, Jeremy begins to finally relax, though he still feels guilty for the situation he and his family members are trapped in. Not even an hour into their cuddling session, Emily comes running into the living room, eyes widening when she sees the state her best friend is in.

“Jeremy, are you okay!?” Emily asks, voice filled to the brim with worry. “I heard Mundy say you were crying, so I was trying to find you! What happened?”

Jeremy bites his lip, squirming uncomfortably out of both shame and anxiety. “Um… can we talk ‘bout it in my room?” He turns his head to look up at Bonnie, offering them a kind smile. “Thanks for lettin’ me hang out wid ya, Bonnie… you’re a real good friend, ya know dat?”

Bonito smiles, simply ruffling Jeremy’s hair.

In the meantime, Emily nods in response to her friend’s request. “Yeah, we can go to your room… can we make a pillow-fort? Everyone knows that sad talks go better if ya have them in a pillow-fort.”

“Well obviously, yeah. Dat’s jus’ plain logic, Em,” Jeremy agrees, hopping off of Bonito’s lap and heading for the doorway, only pausing to glance nervously at Emily. “Ya sure ya okay with talkin’ wid me ‘bout somethin’ sad? It’s kinda dumb, ‘n you shouldn’t have ta deal wid it none.”

“You’re my  _ bestest  _ friend in the whole  _ world, _ Jeremy; I’m here for you, even if I can’t come over a lot,” Emily explains, stepping forward and grabbing one of Jeremy’s hands quite gently. “Come on, let’s go make that pillow-fort!”

The trip to Jeremy’s room isn’t that long at all, especially since most of the bedrooms on-base are so close to the living room, and both kids are fairly fast on their feet, even if Emily doesn’t get to run around nearly as much as the boy by her side. Once they reach the bedroom, Jeremy leads them both inside, closing the door behind them so John will know not to come barreling in (not that that always stops him, but at least the youngest boy can say he tried his best to keep him out), all while Emily starts yanking blankets off the bed, quick to drag them to the dresser and open the highest drawers she can reach. While Emily tucks the edges of the blanket into the drawers and shuts them, Jeremy digs out any stuffed animals he might have hidden under the bed, making extra sure to grab Monsieur Crab, as to be without the stuffed crustacean right now would be awful. Both children are quite experienced in pillow-fort building, making it so they have their new fort done in no time flat, allowing the duo to scramble inside and make themselves comfortable at record speed. Emily chooses to bundle herself in a pink fluffy blanket, while Jeremy cuddles Monsieur Crab and simply sits in place, fidgeting as he thinks over what to say. Recognizing the boy’s discomfort, Emily abruptly gets up, walking over to the desk to look through one of the drawers for something. Before Jeremy can even ask what she’s doing, the girl smirks and pulls out a notepad and pen.

“I think you need to be interrogated, Jeremy,” Emily states, giving Jeremy such a big, excited smile, though most people would probably find it terrifying. “I see people do it on TV all the time, ‘n it seems like it works!”

“Is dat what it’s called?  _ Interrogation?”  _ Jeremy repeats the word, surprised that this is the true definition to it. “Papa says it’s called therapy, but I dunno for sure.”

“It’s  _ definitely  _ called interrogation; that’s what Mother says she does to clients, after all,” Emily explains, sitting down on a little stool while starting to jot down notes. “Now, please make yourself comfortable, and we will begin the interrogation shortly.”

Jeremy’s still a little hesitant, but seeing as he believes Emily to be the smartest person ever besides his parents, he decides to keep his mouth shut and just go along with her idea. He takes a pillow and fluffs it, using it as intended while lying on the floor, mimicking the way he’s seen therapy patients relax on TV. “Um… is this good, Em?” He asks, wanting to double-check with Emily before they continue with the thinly disguised confession.

Emily glances up from her notepad to nod. “Yep, that looks fine… and please, call me Dr. Pauling; I’m gonna be your interrogator, remember?” She starts scribbling again, though Jeremy can’t tell from this angle what she’s writing down. “So what has brought you into my office today, Mr. Kennedy? What is making you so sad? A lack of attention? A stomach ache?”

Jeremy hugs Monsieur Crab, eyes on the ceiling of the pillow-fort as he explains himself. “Well… my brothers ‘n mama aren’t doin’ so good widout me ‘n Papa around, ‘n I feel like it’s all my fault, ‘cus I know Ma is really scared ‘bout me gettin’ hurt, so me not bein’ home has gotta be makin’ things worse, ‘specially since all my brothers have been fightin’ with each other like crazy since we left!” He rolls over, facing away from Emily so she won’t see the tears building up in his eyes. “I know that Papa ‘n everybody else keeps tellin’ me dat this ain’t my fault, but I jus’  _ know  _ it is; dey’re jus’ bein’ nice ‘cus dey think I’m nothin’ but a lil’ kid. I wanna make things better, ‘n help Papa fight in dis stupid war, even though it isn’t allowed… I jus’ wanna see my family again. I’m scared dat if things keep bein’ bad, ‘r get even worse, den they’re won’t even  _ be  _ no family ta come home to…” At that, he begins to cry again, as voicing such a long-held fear outloud feels both relieving and horrible.

“I think I see the problem, Mr. Kennedy,” Emily says, amazingly enough able to hold her composure while her friend bawls his eyes out. Then again, since she travels with her mother for work so often, she’s probably used to seeing people at their worst. “It seems you have ‘I’m always the bad guy’ disorder.” She announces, not the least bit bothered by the odd name.

“What’s that?” Jeremy asks, sitting up and wiping at his eyes. Is that a real disorder? He thinks it might be, all things considered.

“It’s when ya think that everything is your fault, even when it isn’t. It can also show up when you  _ do  _ make a mistake, but keep beatin’ yourself up over it, even after you’ve been forgiven,” Emily explains, also believing that this is a real disorder and not just depression and/or self-deprecation. “Side-effects include pouting, crying a bunch, being really upset when you don’t wanna be, being sleepy at all times, ‘n feeling guilty no matter what you do.”

Jeremy nods along to Emily’s description of the made up mental illness, eyes widening with newfound concern, but not just for himself. “Whoa… dat sounds like how my papa is sometimes!”

“It can be in your parents, too,” Emily says, not knowing the word hereditary, so she can’t use it to describe this better. “But there’s no need to worry so much, Mr. Kennedy, even if that  _ is  _ a side-effect of your disorder. Here, I’ll write you a note of what you gotta do to feel better.” She rips out the page she’d been writing on, folding it in half before passing it to the boy.

Jeremy unfolds it immediately, squinting as he tries to read the paper. It’s not that he needs glasses, it’s just… “Um,  _ Emily? _ Not ta be mean, but what’s dis say? I can’t read it.”

Luckily for him, Emily doesn’t get upset. “Dat’s fine, I wanna keep bein’ an interrogator anyways,” She admits, taking the note back and reading it aloud to her patient. “Dr. Pauling suggests that in order to help cope with his ‘I’m always the bad guy’ disorder, Mr. Jeremy Kennedy must tell his father about how he’s feeling, call his mother and brothers more often to check on them, watch happy movies, and eat a big bowl of ice cream.”

“Ya think that’ll all help?” Jeremy asks, perking up at the thought of eating ice cream and calling his mom, though he has to admit, the idea of talking to Spy about how he feels sounds  _ really  _ scary, but if the doctor recommends it, it has to work!

“Of  _ course  _ it will; I’ve been an interrogator for fifteen minutes, and my methods never fail!” Emily explains, grinning from ear to ear at Jeremy. “Oh yeah, and I almost forgot, you’ve got one more thing you gotta do to feel better!”

Jeremy tilts his head, having begun to stand up and head for the door, but now he’s curious enough to wait a little longer. “What do I gotta do, Dr. Pauling?” He questions, half scared it’ll be something really hard or painful.

“You need a hug from your best friend!” Emily says, setting her notepad aside to leave her arms open for him.

Deciding to be a bit playful, Jeremy smirks. “Oh, is  _ dat  _ all? Okay, c’mere Monsieur Crab!” He exclaims, making a big show out of hugging his stuffie with all his might.

_ “What!? _ No, I meant  _ me, _ ya doofus!” Emily yells, trying to shove Monsieur Crab out of her way to hug Jeremy.

“But ya said ta hug my  _ best  _ friend, Emily!” Jeremy points out, giving the girl a cheeky grin.

Emily huffs, grabbing her note from earlier and scribbling on it again, before shoving it in Jeremy’s face. “That’s it, I’m revoking your ice cream, Mr. Kennedy!”

“Aw, come on, Em; I’m jus’  _ kiddin’,” _ Jeremy assures, setting his crab aside so he can hug Emily instead. “Besides, I got confused… ya said my  _ best  _ friend, not my  _ bestest  _ friend in the whole  _ world! _ Ya gotta say it better next time, Dr. Pauling.”

That gets a small laugh out of Emily, the girl reluctantly hugging him back. “You’re such a jerk, Jerm.” She says, but it’s said fondly, as she finds his rambunctiousness rather endearing.

Jeremy just smiles, pulling away from Emily to bounce in place, excited like he was at the start of the day now that he feels like he actually has a few remedies for his sadness. “So, whatcha wanna do  _ now,  _ Em? I don’t think Papa would like it if I ran onta the field to bug ‘im, ‘n I’m not allowed ta use the phone without permission, so…”

“That’s true… ‘n Mother wouldn’t like me eating ice cream without her permission,” Emily says, before taking Jeremy’s hand in hers again so she can lead him back out of the room. “Come on, let’s see if anybody else wants to be interrogated; Johnny looks like he could use it!”

Jeremy nods in agreement, happily following Emily to play with her and the other children. Later he and the other kids will end up scaring the mercenaries shitless, as they end up walking in on them more or less forming a summoning circle and chanting around a nearly motionless John, but at least Spy let’s his son have that bowl of ice cream after dinner. There are times that Jeremy still feels overwhelmed by his “I’m always the bad guy” disorder, but with such good friends, an amazing dad, a badass mom, silly big brothers, and a bunch of weird uncles around to support him, he feels like maybe, just maybe, he can get through this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of an abrupt ending, but this took so fucking long to write, I don’t even care anymore. I think I might take a small break from this AU to work on something else (either the sort-of sequel to “Jeremy” or the first fic for my Monsters AU), but that might change if I get some good prompts. Either way, I hope y’all enjoyed reading this fic, it was a real pleasure to write, even if it took way longer than I intended it to. Have an amazing day, and please comment if you enjoyed this fic/chapter, ‘cus it would really make me happy!

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Scout; his heart is in the right place, but he’s about to learn the hard way that sometimes, stuffed animals can handle sleeping by themselves if needed! So, what do y’all think so far? Feel free to hit me up in either the comments or on my Tumblr. Have an amazing day, everyone, and stay safe out there!


End file.
